


Holding On (To Stars)

by IncestiousBrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesiac Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Flashbacks, I will add tags as they come up in chapters, M/M, Mentions of suicide & self-harm, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam is 15 in a flashback, Top!Castiel, Top!Sam, Torture, Weecest, slight scar kink, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 51,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncestiousBrothers/pseuds/IncestiousBrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have stopped hunting. For good. No hunts even if or when they get the itch. Sam’s signed up for classes at the community college and Dean’s been hired at garage close by. Sam’s finally gotten used to calling the Bunker home. Dean’s (mentally) donned the title of House Cook. Everything's great. The only thing missing is Cas. After an arduous ordeal, Castiel returns but not as he was before. How will Sam and Dean cope when the Castiel that they knew is gone forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heavy In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say that my fic takes place at the beginning of season 8 but the Bunker is probably the only thing my fic and the show have in common. There is no mention of the trials or angels falling from the sky or Kevin (but that may be subject to change) This is my take on what should have happened once Sam and Dean discovered the Bunker.
> 
> Title comes from Stars by Fun.

**_“And is it worth the wait_ **

**_All this killing time?_ **

**_Are you strong enough to stand_ **

**_Protecting both your hearts and mine?_ **

****

**_Who is the betrayer?_ **

**_Who's the killer in the crowd?_ **

**_The one who creeps in corridors_ **

**_And doesn't make a sound_ **

****

**_My love has concrete feet_ **

**_My love's an iron ball_ **

**_Wrapped around your ankles_ **

**_Over the waterfall.”_ **

  

Dean and Sam were putting the final contents of their trunk in the 'dungeon' of the Bunker with the rest of weapons that had come with the building. They were giving up on hunting. They were done. This place wasn't their _homebase_ anymore. The Bunker was their home now no matter how long it had taken Sam to admit -read: realize **-**  it. They were settling down in every sense of the word; they had gone into town last week -with their real names- and for the first time allowed the civilians to engage in useless chit chat with them. Because that’s what normal people did, right?

They non-verbally established roots as…whatever they were. Lovers, boyfriends, partners. Sam and Dean had long ago stopped trying to label what they had especially when Cas had come into the mix. They had decided not to put too much emphasis on what they were in public just in case Cas had ever decided to settle down with them. Fat chance since he had yet to answer their calls.

Of course, it wasn’t unlike the angel not to answer their call immediately but things were…different now. They were different now.

Sam turned to Dean as he emptied the chamber of the last gun. “Is that the last of it?”

They don't talk about the back-up guns, angel blades, machetes, salt, holy water, lighter fluid and boxes of matches hidden in various places around the Bunker. Those are just in case.

“Yup.” Dean rhythmically cracked his back as he headed back downstairs, Sam on his heels. Dean compulsively started to clear the library table as if they were expecting company. They sort of were. Dean kept his back to Sam as he silently whispered prayers –were they really prayers if they had profanity in them?

Sam came out of the kitchen with two beers and tossed one to his brother. “So, have you heard back from the garage?”

“Yeah. Start Thursday. You?”

“Classes start the 2nd.”

A thoughtful but slightly uncomfortable silence took over as the brothers sipped at their beers. Dean lounged ungracefully on the couch, pretending per usual that he was fine when he wasn’t.

“So this is it?” Sam focused on the hardwood paneling of the floor. “No more hunting?”

Dean sighed in exhaustion. “I'm sure there'll still be hunting, Sam. But now it's someone else's problem. Like it should be.”

Sam looked up at his brother. “So it doesn't feel strange to you? At all.” 

“What?”

Sam called out on his brother’s bullshit with a look. “Knowing that we’ll never salt and burn bones again. Or chant exorcisms or stay in crap motels or slice vampires' heads off...”

Dean smirked blithely. “Don't forget shoot werewolves in the heart.”

Sam gave him a soft but stern look. “Dean.”

Cue the puppy dog eyes.

Dean stood, setting his beer bottle down slightly harder than necessary causing the table to rattle. “What, Sam? What do you want me to say? That no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from reading a newspaper without looking for hunts. That it scares the crap out of me that I know there is a ghost haunting an innocent family four states away and we're not in Baby on our way to hunt the damn thing? Well, there you go, Sam. Happy now?”

Sam looked away, a look of hurt in his face. “No. Not really.”

Dean stifled a noise of frustration; he could tell when Sam wanted to say something but wouldn’t if he thought that Dean would get mad. “What is it?”

“You know what.” Sam snapped. He wasn’t an idiot. Dean had been acting strange ever since Castiel hadn’t answered his second call over two weeks ago. “We haven't heard from him in a while...”

“Cas’ a grown angel, Sam.” Dean snorted derisively. “He fights, smites, and answers 'calls' whenever he wants. He ain't obligated to check in with us.”

“I know that, Dean, I know, but I–.”

“But nothing, Sam.” Dean interjected, sitting back down. “If Cas wants to talk to us all he has to do is teleport his feathery ass. Ain't nothing stopping him.”

“It just feels different, you know?” Sam nervously busied himself with picking at the label on his beer bottle.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You're gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than that, Sammy.”

Sam shrugged. “I just can’t shake this feeling.”

Dean, now curious, looked at Sam. “What feeling?”

“You remember Mystery Spot?” Sam stared down at his hands, fighting the urge to flinch at the memories. Dean nodded. “Every Tuesday after the first, I _knew_ you were going to die but I never knew how or had a clue why. And I just felt like–.”

Just then a thud sounded, followed by a sickening squelch. Dean and Sam threw each other a look and slowly stood in unison as they crept to the source of the noise; the foyer. And even though they were both hunters, having seen the most gruesome things, neither of them were prepared.

A pair of somehow familiar jet black wings coated in what could have been oil –though the Winchesters know better– were strewn across the hardwood floors of the Bunker's entrance; shallow pools of thick blood slowly filling beneath them. The wings’ feathers were broken, torn, and crinkled; bent at flinching science fiction angles as if there was a great struggle in the removal. An odor eerily similar to iron and salt permeated the room, coating the tense atmosphere with an aura of imminent death.

Dean grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and flung the one beside it to his brother, who caught it robotically, his gaze still set to the wings. “Get in the car.”


	2. Is This Thing On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angsty smut...but I like to think that Sam and Dean find comfort in sins of the flesh. 
> 
> This was originally two chapters but I decided to merge them into one so you guys wouldn't have to wait so long for the Castiel chapter.

**_“Got your voicemail_ **

**_Can you call me, at a hotel?_ **

**_There's something that's weighin' heavy on my heart_ **

**_And heavy on my chest.”_ **

 

“Do you think–?” Sam started.

“I don't know, Sam.” Dean answered. He kept his focus on the road but it was obvious his mind was a thousand miles away, going through every worst case scenario. Every time he hit a particularly nasty one his hands tightened on the wheel and his foot sank into the gas pedal.

“Maybe they weren’t his.” Sam tried, internally smacking himself over and over again at his asininely transparent optimism. Thankfully it was night; Sam couldn’t actually see them devouring the road at what was or damn near close neck-breaking speed.

“Who else’s could they be, Sam?” There was no sarcasm laced through Dean's words like there usually would be...but that's what made it all the more worse. “And why would some freak decide to put random wings in our living room?”

“...I don't know.” Sam sputtered. “But where are we going, Dean?”

“No clue, but we couldn't just sit on our asses.”

“Would that really have been so bad, Dean?” Sam finally raised his voice. He breathed a sigh of relief when Dean pulled the car off onto a non-existent shoulder.

“The hell are you talking about?” Dean wasn’t looking at Sam, he was staring the pitch black night as if it was somehow holding all the answers.

“I am talking about how you don't seem to be all that concerned with exactly how those wings got into the well-protected Bunker without our knowing. Or that until a few hours ago we didn't even know angels could have their wings...removed.”

Dean shut off the ignition and got out, even though he knew Sam was going to follow. “We've crossed state lines for less, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam joined Dean at the hood, “but I'm pretty sure then we at least knew where we going, Dean. Please, can we just stop and think?”

“Maybe you haven't realized this, Sam, but Cas could be dying as we speak–.”

“I know that, Dean, but we have not a half-assed plan, but no plan. For all we know we could be heading in the opposite direction. And who's to say Cas is even on Earth anymore, let alone in the country?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but reason got in the way. “It's just different now, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean moved his gaze from the constellations to the toes of his boots. “God, I mean...us.” Damn. You would have thought Dean had been forced to use the pronoun. “This is the first time since we've been...more...and something’s been wrong. Cas, wherever the hell he is, doesn't know where we are or what we're doing; he probably thinks we're not looking–.”

Sam started to say something but thought better of it. He sighed. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean kept his eyes trained to the ground for a few more moments, knowing that when he finally looked up, he was going to be met with Sam’s pitiful look. “What?”

“I know that if Cas is alive he knows we're looking for him and there is nothing that you or I can do that would make him think any different.” Sam touched his brother's chin with the tips of his fingers, tilting Dean's lips up to meet his.

Dean nudged away and took a step back. “You can't know that. Anyone else would–.”

Sam pulled his brother back immediately. “Cas isn't anyone.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply but Sam was done with talking. Sam kissed Dean in a way that only he could; knowing where Dean was before he did and mirroring the motions with just as much force. Dean leaned closer to his brother, his gun-calloused hands framing Sam's face. Sam retaliated with his fingertips sinking into Dean's lower back.

Sam maneuvered to open the backseat door and pushed Dean down onto the seat, pulling off his jacket and shirt. Ignoring his own clothes, Sam immediately started littering Dean's torso with kisses and caresses until Dean tried removing his layers.

“C’mon, Sam.”

“Lift up.” Dean obliged, raising his hips off the seat making it easier for Sam to remove the rest of his clothes. Sam shed his layers as quickly as possible before he made it back to Dean. Sam took a moment to appreciate Dean's body; allowing his long slender fingers to slide down the expanse of his brother's speckled skin.

“Beautiful.” Sam whispered with a final stroke almost too close to Dean's hard cock. Dean shuddered as goosebumps sprouted on his skin.

“Sam, please.” Dean begged. He arched his back, angling his waist towards Sam. Sam grabbed the lube from the glove box and coated his fingers but Dean took a hold of his wrist. “No.”

“What?”

“Want to feel it.”

“Are you sure?” Sam could count on one hand how many times Dean had bottomed and for him to choose not to use prep with Sam of all people was–.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, just wanna feel you.”

“Okay.” Sam kissed Dean before leaning back. “You gotta relax.”

Dean took a few deep breaths before nodding again. Sam leant forward; one hand guiding the head of his now heavily lubed cock into Dean's entrance while the other braced himself at his brother's side. Dean clenched his eyes shut at the first sign of discomfort, but refused to say stop. Sam continued to push, causing Dean to cry out, but Sam was right there to catch every whimper.

“Doing so good. Tell me when.” Sam said, stroking Dean's ribcage and planting soft kisses on his neck and face. Dean ran his hands through Sam's hair, wordlessly saying 'I love you.' with the simple repeated movement.

Dean cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Sam sat up, feeling the cool air hit where their bodies were no longer touching. He pulled out slowly only to push back in just as slow. Sam found Dean's sweet spot easily, he nudged it and Dean answered with quiet moan.

Sam thrust firmly in and out of Dean. Dean would never admit it aloud but he loved it when they took things slow. It gave him the illusion that they had all the time in the world and that their days weren’t so numbered. Sam laced his fingers through Dean's resting their linked hands on Dean's shoulders.

“Remember what this was like with Cas?” Sam whispered. “How it felt to have him inside both of us, knowing exactly what we wanted?”

“Ye...yeah. So good.” Dean took in a harsh breath, his body shook as Sam touched his prostate again.

“I don't even do him justice, do I?” Sam smirked.

Dean shook his head desperately, “N-no. Just as good, Sammy. Swear.” Dean continued to ramble in a near nonsensical manner on how neither Sam nor Cas is a better top.

Sam soothed his brother with kisses everywhere but his mouth, not wanting the words to stop. “As soon as we find him, we're gonna do this again, won’t we?”

The Impala filled with a hesitant beat of silence. Dean groaned, mostly at himself when he felt wetness seep from his eyes despite how tightly he shut them. “What if–?”

Sam shook his head as he lowered to kiss away each tear and catch the ones that followed. “Uh-uh. We will. We will find him and we’ll make love to him over” – _thrust_ – “and” – _thrust_ – “over” – _thrust_ – “again.” Sam moved his mouth to his brother's ear. “I promise.”

A passing car’s headlights lit up Sam’s hazel eyes to the point that Dean could see the individual grooves imprinted on the yellows and blues of his iris just before he came. Sam stroked Dean’s cock, extending his orgasm. Dean pushed upward, not bothering to warn Sam, who was so attuned to Dean it was unnerving to outsiders. Dean straddled Sam's lap, bowlegs folded neatly at the knee. That extra inch in Dean was almost Sam's undoing.

“Jesus. Dean.”

“Come on, Sammy. Remember Cas. Isn't that what you told me?” Dean ducked his head and started to suck on any and every inch of Sam's warm skin he could reach, fingers parting Sam's hair until it cooled the webs of his hands.

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed thickly, fucking even deeper into Dean. “Castiel.”

Dean took Sam's ear lobe into his mouth. “Cas.”

Sam’s grip at Dean's waist was rigid enough to leave hand-shaped bruises but neither brother cared in the slightest. Bruises and marks were what made these moments all that more intense.

“That's it, baby boy. Let go. I've got you.” Dean’s words eased Sam as he pressed them against his brother’s neck. They seeped through the thin flesh covering Sam’s pulse and into his shaking muscles, setting an obscure blanket of calmness over them –it was strange how effortlessly they changed the roles of the comforter. Sam sighed, leaning back on the leather upholstery with his head lolling back just as Dean’s fell forward against his chest.

Dean’s forehead was sweaty but Sam didn’t notice. He just let his hands drop to his brother’s waist to lift him off but refused to let Dean move any more than that–not that Dean noticed. He settled even more into Sam’s lap, who was already closing his eyes. Dean followed suit.

The brothers fell asleep to the ambiance of the occasional passing car and the sound of each other’s breathing.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Dean woke up in...neither his car nor the bunker. Half-realizing his surroundings, he snapped awake. “Sam?” He called in a sleep-hoarse voice.

“Bagels and coffee on the counter.” Sam said from the motel's kitchenette table, eyes barely moving from his laptop screen.

Dean wiped his eyes as he groggily headed over to where the scent of coffee and butter was calling his name. “Good morning to you too.”

“Shut up and eat your breakfast.” Sam ordered, going back to his laptop, but not before he caught Dean taking an obscene bite of  _his_ bagel. For some reason it endeared him and like a reflex he said, “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean retorted, his playful scowl not quite stretching to his eyes. He jerked his chin toward his brother's laptop. “Research?”

“Uh, yeah. There is surprisingly little lore on angels' wings. Did you know in The Bible angels were never even said to have wings? And the only reason that we everyone thinks so is because of some artist’s imagination?”

Dean shook his head and looked down at his coffee, finishing the last of it in one deft swallow. He refilled it to the brim.

“I thought I’d starting looking into supernatural creatures that are known for stealing and or misplacing...but there are about two hundred too many. I'll keep digging, though.” Sam tried to offer his brother an optimistic smile, but it just felt like a superficial grimace. The only things that would cheer Dean up were progress and results.

Once Dean finished with breakfast he went into the bathroom. He began to get undressed but stopped half-way when he caught a glimpse of himself in the grime-bordered mirror. He hadn’t quite realized how much he had let himself go since Cas had stopped answering their prayers. Or maybe he had, denial was always a helpful bitch.  

Grey-rimmed green –more like a dying leaf hue now– eyes, skin that looked as though someone had turned down the brightness on a TV, dry lips that would put a certain someone's to shame, and even his hair had lost its luster. Dean shut his eyes and gripped the edges of the porcelain sink until the skin over his knuckles stretched white when more scenes of Castiel's dire possibilities flash across his mind in spurts of agony and fear.

Dean forced himself into a wary calm before shucking the rest of his clothes and stepping under the ice cold shower. The frigid water kept him grounded. He spent at least half an hour just standing under the spout letting the water stretch the span of his skin into goosebumps and chatter his teeth.

Sam listened to the door shut with a resolute creak. He exhaled, closing his laptop; not able to stomach anymore amateur angelologist’s analyses on why angels can't, don't, or might not have wings. Sam mentally cringed at the thought all the places Cas could be, if it was even Cas who was missing. But even if that was the case, it wasn’t really comforting; another angel (or winged creature) was either dead or dying and Cas was too...whatever to answer their calls both ethereal and corporeal.

Sam anxiously ran his hands through his hair and took out his phone. Just maybe...It rang six times before being interrupted by an automated voice.  _“You have reached the voicemail of: I don't understand...why...why do you want me to say my name?”_

Sam ended the call before the beep, tossing his cell back onto the table with a clatter. “Jesus, Cas, what've you gotten yourself into?”

When Dean finally got out the shower, in a measure to avoid the mirror as much as possible he got dressed in the bedroom. He barely let his mind worry about Sam and modesty. He sat idly on the bed closest to the door. “Why’d you get two beds?”

“The manager had a Confederate flag hanging over his desk. In my experience: racist and homophobic usually go hand in hand.”

“Right.” Dean grabbed the duffel that was sitting at the end of the bed. Judging from its lack of wear it had to be the backup that Sam and he had made when they were emptying out the Impala. Since Dean didn’t have anything better to do he took out his favorite gun to clean it.

A normal Dean activity that took a weight off Sam's chest; until he realized that his brother wasn’t humming like he usually did. He remained silent and robotic; executing each step by rote with infinite grace.

Sam started to comment but decided against it. He went back to research but every so often checked on Dean.

When Dean finished cleaning his gun, he grabbed his unfinished coffee from the table and plotted himself on the ugly tattered sofa across from a twenty year-old television. It was obvious Dean couldn't have given less of a shit about what was on. It was purely for appearances. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finally makes an appearance in the next chapter. Again, if you cannot handle the subject of torture. Skip skip skip. I don't want anyone getting traumatized and whatnot. Not worth it. Talk to y'all next Tuesday!


	3. Bleeding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize how short this chapter was until I cut and pasted...Damn. All that build up for less than 400 words. Maybe I'll make up for it by posting the next chapter before next Tuesday...if I get it done before then. Enjoy!

**_“I’ll bleed out for you_ **

**_So I bare my skin_ **

**_And I count my sins_ **

**_And I close my eyes_ **

**_And I take it in_ **

**_And I’m bleeding out_ **

**_I’m bleeding out for you (for you).”_ **

Every sense was heightened. Fear could do that. Make every creak a screech. Every taste bitter. Each blink a slumber. Every smell a stench. Every scratch a stab.

It was sound of the blade piercing his skin that actually awoke Castiel rather than the pain. It was a gruesome sound, a suppressed sucking noise that made Castiel's skin crawl and his hair stand on end.

The angel blade burrowed deeper into Castiel's stomach until the tip teased his spine. Scarlet blood effortlessly flowed out from the gaping wound securing the knife. “I am waiting.” He said in a taunting voice.

Castiel laboriously inhaled through his mouth and released it through his nose, reminding himself that he had been through worse. “Then I suggest...you continue...to do so, because I will not do what you ask of me.” Why was it that air came so scarcely now? Perhaps it was the lack of windows or any other openings in the desolate vicinity. Perhaps it was fear.

Odorous sewage water leaked from precariously sinking roof. The walls were made of panels of grey rotting wood that cracked in several spots manage to hold the red angel sigils in place. Grime and mildew adorned every crease in the floor, walls, and ceiling where they met. The temperature of the squalor environment was hot. No, more than hot; humid. Each breath was as strenuous as pulling a heavy weight by a rusted spring.

“And why is that?” He mercilessly wrenched the knife out of Castiel's flesh without a second thought and set it down on a table, returning it to a set of knives each one sharper than the other. Despite Castiel's efforts, a weak whimper escaped from his chapped and now bleeding lips. “Do you think God unworthy of your repent?”

Castiel let out a laugh that had nothing but pain and embarrassment at its roots, “You should revise your definition of repent, brother. I have committed no wrongdoing or sin therefore I have nothing to repent–.”

A swift backhand across Castiel's face silenced him. “Liar.”

Castiel stared unblinkingly into the other vessel's vacant grey eyes. “Then perhaps you could inform me of what it is you think I have done. It is only fair since you have kept me here against my will for more than a month”

Camael sneered and roughly snapped Castiel's head back by his hair. “Sodomy...for starters.” Camael grabbed at the blade farthest to the right. He twirled it back and forth, showcasing it to Castiel.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, hot anger making blood pulse out of his wounds even faster. “Sodomy against one’s will is a crime but you know as well as I do that sodomy is not mentioned in the Bible nor has our Father condemned it.”

Camael swiped the blade under Castiel’s navel with a sharp flick of his hand. “Ah, yes, Castiel, your relationship with those hairless apes has no carnal outlet.” He said, sarcastically.

“I still fail to see how it concerns you, Camael.”

Camael placed the tip of his blade on Castiel’s throat directly over a vein. “Oh, it concerns me, brother.”


	4. Please Don't Leave Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the *extra* chapter I promised before Tuesday! But I swear, the chapters get longer; especially when the flashbacks start. *smiles* Those with feels for Wincest, Destiel, Sastiel and the like beware when those FBs begin. See y'all next Tuesday! ;D

**_“I don't know if I can yell any louder,_ **

**_How many times have I kicked you out of here,_ **

**_Or said something insulting?_ **

**_I can be so mean when I wanna be,_ **

**_I am capable of really anything,_ **

**_I can cut you into pieces,_ **

**_When my heart is broken.”_ **

 

The sun was starting to set when a promising link finally grabbed Sam attention. He sat up.

“Hey, Dean, listen to this.”

“What've you got?” Dean tried not to get his hopes up too high as he entered the kitchenette. Thoughts of Cas had been rotating like a rusty spinning top around the confines of Dean’s mind; only stopping when they had lost momentum and starting up again when Dean unintentionally picked them up.

Sam swiveled his laptop towards Dean, showcasing a drawing of a short and stout man-like creature with matted-hair and long black nails and hooved feet. It would have been a satyr apart from the fact the hooves appeared to start its calves instead of waist. At first the creature didn’t look like much to Sam until he read on to find out that the creature could not only shapeshift but make things appear out of thin air if only for a short while. “How about a Quane? It’s a creature of Irish mythology.”

“Never heard of it.” Dean stated, taking a bottle of water from the fridge.

Sam let out a humorous breath. “'Course not. Why would you have?” Dean crassly belched and flashed his brother a one finger salute. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean replied quickly as he took a seat across from Sam; not acknowledging that he automatically unconsciously stretched out his legs so his knee grazed Sam’s. “So what's this about a...”

“Quane.” Sam finished.

“Right.”

“Unfortunately, there’s a lot of lore on the Quane.” Sam said before he read from the article. “According to this: ‘It's a creature from Irish folklore, that is known for stealing items of great value i.e. family heirlooms to body parts and placing them with family members or friends generally to cause alarum or animosity.’”

“…You lost me.”

Sam stifled a smile at his brother’s vacant expression. “Okay. Let's say you walk out of a bar and find the Impala is missing...”

“I'd start kicking ass and taking names.” Dean deadpanned.

“Right.” Sam chuckled. “But let's also say we find your car with…Garth.”

“I'd ask the squeamy little fucker why he took my car...while I kicked his ass.”

“Exactly. That's what Quanes like, what they feed off of. The pain of others, physical and emotional. But they're not outright with their antics; they just provide the situation and watch as it plays out. Think of Tricksters but more…animal-like.”

Dean nodded. What his brother was saying made sense but with a second glance at the creature he became skeptical. “I don't know, man. I mean, do you honestly believe that  _that_  managed to attack Cas,  _survive_ , and make off with his wings?”

Sam physically deflated. “I don't know, Dean. It's the only one I've come across that's seems to make even the least amount of sense.”

“Well, can you find something else?” Dean threw his empty plastic bottle towards the trash bin. It bounced off.

“Yeah, Dean. Sure I can.” Cue bitchface #50.

Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother's clipped tone. “Problem, Sammy?”

“Sam. And, yeah, I'd love to hear your suggestions, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Sam retorted. “I've been researching for over thirteen hours straight while you've done nothing but clean your gun and lounge around all day in front of crap TV and when I finally find something worth looking into, you shoot it down.”

“Maybe because what you found doesn't make any sense!” Dean shouted, standing over Sam's still-seated figure to take full advantage of their temporary height difference. Dean cringed in shame at how good it felt to let out all the anger and frustration. His only problem was that he was taking it out on the wrong person.

“Then maybe you think you could do better!” Sam bellowed as he roughly pushed his laptop towards Dean, standing as well and now dwarfing Dean. “Because you just asking me to find better is not doing jackshit but piss me off, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I'm so sorry if I want answers, Sam–.”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam snapped.

“Oh, please, Sam. You have been stalling since the get-go.”

“Stalling? I think the word you’re looking for is thinking! Maybe you like to run into situations without a plan or a second-thought but I don’t. We can’t afford to go driving all over the damn country with no destination in mind just because you feel like we should, Dean.”

“Right. And just because  _you_  don't care about what happens to Cas doesn't mean–.”

Sam was on Dean in a second; hands gripping Dean's shirt tight and holding him against the wall. Dean tried to get out of the hold –Sam's elbows were uncomfortably pressing into his ribcage– but it was futile; there was no fighting Sam especially when he was angry. “Don't you ever accuse me of not caring about Castiel.” Sam gave Dean another final shove before releasing him. He stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dean stared at the empty room before him before he got up and walked on shaky legs out the door, heading to the nearest bar.


	5. Be My Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More torture. Sorry, not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? Fuck that Tuesday deadline shit. Imma just post chapters as I finish them; y'all probably got subsciptions anyway.

**_“I am a hostage to my own humanity_ **

**_Self-detained and forced to live in this mess I’ve made_ **

**_And all I’m asking is for you to do what you can with me_ **

**_But I can’t ask you to give what you already gave.”_ **

 

The worst thing about being whipped was its similarity to thunder and lightning. The crack of the whip against flesh was the lightning –sharp and instantaneous– and the pain was the thunder that followed without fault a moment later –deep and long-lasting.

Castiel's body was stretched to the point of only slight discomfort by his extremities; his appendages were held in place by heavy iron chains etched with Enochian runes and sigils attached to the deteriorating walls of the warehouse. The only force that could free him now was magic. Power that he didn’t possess or at least it felt like. His grace seemed to have started to dwindle, oil seeping down a drain.

Camael’s switch had to have been construed of something angelic; none of Castiel's wounds had even begun to heal. He had tried to take control of the pain, reminding himself there would be an end, by counting the lashes. Once Castiel had reached a hundred he’d stopped counting.

Castiel was long past the point of screaming –his head and throat ached with it–, now he only had enough energy to let his mouth fall open in a pitiful constant cry of agony. Every lash seemed harsher than the first, slicing what little skin Castiel had left and flaying the still fresh wounds his wings had left behind. He could only imagine what his back looked like. The only thing Castiel took solace in was in knowing Sam and Dean would rescue him. He knew they would. They had to. Right? _Right_. Castiel scolded himself for his moment of doubt, however fleeting. He had to have faith that Sam and Dean were going to save him.

Camael’s laugh shocked Castiel out of his reverie. The angel hadn't spoken at all during Castiel's punishment except to tell him that he was getting only what he deserved. Castiel had tuned him out a long time ago.

“Sam and Dean.” The lashes stopped. Camael’s voice resembled the crackling of cellophane. Castiel, too caught up in his relief, perked up at the mention of the men. Had he spoken aloud? “That is who you think will save you? Those asinine humans? You’re willing to put your faith in them but not our Father.”

“Our Father has long since abandoned us, C–.” Castiel whimpered when he received another lashing.

“Bite your tongue. He may have given up on you but not on me.”

Castiel coughed up a sharp bubble of blood and immediately regretted it when he felt it drip slowly off his lips and down his chin. “P-pride does not suit you, brother.”

“I could say the same for your stupidity.” Camael retorted.

“One could argue who exactly is the stupid one. The one avenging an indifferent God or the one in love with two men.” Another stripe of lightning laced across his back. He forgot himself and screamed; it was a pitiful stillborn blood-spattered imitation of a scream.

Camael scoffed at his broken brother. “The Winchesters may have evaded their past aggressors with some semblance of skill but make no mistake, they will come for you, Castiel. It’s their Achilles’ heel; saving the hopeless. And not to worry, I have made sure to make it quite easy to find us.” Camael laughed. “I thank you for the generous donation of your wings.”

Even the sound of their names hurt like a shard of glass to the chest. “N-n…no.” Castiel didn’t even recognize his own voice, it was guttural and clotted with blood. “You will...not...harm the...Winchesters.”

“And why is that, brother? The only one _stupid_ enough to save them is right here.” Camael stepped around and closer to Castiel. Even with his vessel’s above average height he only made it to Castiel’s mid-torso. “Come to terms with it, brother, the moment that those ingrates walk through that door they are as good as dead. And when I kill them before your very eyes, you will have no one to blame but yourself.” Camael straightened. “Now, shall we continue?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swear the next chapter is longer.


	6. Let The Flames Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy has a bad dream.

**_“What a shame we all became such fragile, broken things._ **

**_A memory remains just a tiny spark._ **

**_I give it all my oxygen,_ **

**_To let the flames begin_ **

**_To let the flames begin.”_ **

“I'll take another shot of Blackjack.” Dean muttered to the barkeep, trying to stifle the slur that had strewn itself throughout his voice. He wasn’t quite at his limit but he was well on his way.

The bartender raised a well-manicured eyebrow. “Sure thing.” The bartender poured another shot of the brown liquid, barely setting the bottle upright before Dean downed it in record time. Ignoring the burn, he tapped the counter twice with his two forefingers.

The bartender sighed but filled the glass up again. “I'm cutting you off after this one, buddy.”

Dean eructed in reply and paid. He was getting ready to leave when a desperate barfly with too much makeup took an uninvited seat on his lap. Dean held his breath to keep from gagging on the woman’s thick cloud of cheap perfume and cigarette.

“Hey, Casanova.” Her voice was raspy and the complete opposite of arousing.

Dean smiled politely…fakely. “Look, miss–.”

“I've been watching you all night.”

Was that a fact? Because Dean had seen –more like heard– her come in no more than fifteen minutes ago and he had been here at least two hours.

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the stool, though it most likely came across as getting comfortable to the desperate broad. “Really? And do you like what you see?”

“Oh, very.” The bottle blonde leaned in close; her cigarette stained breath moistening his ear. “Do you?”

Jesus, he was drunk but not _that_ drunk. “Miss, you're barking up the wrong tree.”

“Am I?” Her bad lipstick job demoralized her fake pout. “I'm sure your girlfriend won't mind. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.” She tugged impishly at the rumpled collar of his jacket.

Dean chortled as he prepared to stand. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm pretty sure  _he_  will mind.” And with that, Dean stood, dropping the drunken tramp onto the floor with an indignant gasp. He stumbled out the tavern with a curse as he made his way back to the motel.

Dean fumbled with the key card for at least a minute before finally letting himself in –although his subconscious may have just wanted to prolong confronting Sam. He was equally relieved and full of dread when he saw Sam asleep...in his own bed. Even drunk, Dean took the hint and made his way to the adjacent bed. Dean sluggishly turned off the TV, silencing some bullshit ad about instant skin rejuvenation, and stripped down to his boxers and slid under the sheets. He made sure Sam's calm face was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes.

Dean awoke what felt like moments later –though the alarm clock read 4:19 am– to strident screams. At first Dean thought he had just imagined turning the TV off. But it was Sam. Sam, his usually level-headed baby brother, was thrashing on the bed beside him. Screaming his and Cas’ name at the top of his lungs through sobs.

Dean sat up as if a shock ran through him and was at Sam's bedside within seconds. He gently patted at his brother's face. “Sam? Hey, Sammy, c'mon, wake up. You'll wake up the whole hotel.” Sam's nails caught on Dean's shoulder when he tried to stop his brother's still flailing arms. But he refused to yell or even shake his brother. “Jesus, Sam, wake up. _Sam_.”

Sam jerked awake as if emerging from an ocean; eyes wide and confused and his lungs grasping for air. “Hey, easy. I'm right here.” Dean moved to wherever Sam’s eyes did so he was the first and only thing his brother saw.

Sam gradually awoke and focused. “Dean?” Sam clutched Dean's arms in a death grip.

Sam stared at Dean for a moment before completely breaking down. He began to shake and blink violently, and Dean couldn’t tell if he was hyperventilating...or sobbing.

Dean, seeing Sam's neck become red, took a chance and kissed his brother. Sam was so caught off guard that he instinctively held his breath and in turn stopped his panic attack in its tracks. Sam almost immediately calmed. Dean relaxed and released his hold on Sam's lips, resting his forehead against his brother's.

“Can you tell me what that was about?”

Sam tensed. He got up and walked the span of the room to Dean's jacket where it sat by the undrawn windows. He took a flat bottle of whiskey out of the inner pocket, swallowing a small sip and shaking his head. “I was dreaming, I guess.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Clowns or midgets?”

Sam glanced at Dean from beneath his hair, transporting Dean back at least twenty years when Sam was still his Sammy; still in the dark about the supernatural, was Dean's shadow, and didn't have a single scar on his rosy skin except from falling at recess.

Sam swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath. “We…had found Cas. He was in an abandoned house…or something. I can't really remember. We were getting out of the car…when we heard this loud crash from inside and Cas’ voice. You started to run before I could get my legs to move…I froze…I fucking froze. How could I have–?”

Dean resorted to his father's commanding tone. “Sam. Focus. What else happened?”

“…I…I only froze for a second but it was enough for you to get a head-start…I was just starting to close in on you when I tripped…on a rock…or maybe over my own feet…but my side hit the ground hard and I broke a rib...I called your name...but you couldn’t hear me over the noise.”

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean joined Sam at the window. The combination of moonlight and streetlight cast a pale auburn glow that dyed Sam’s russet hair an off-black. Dean couldn't resist touching it. “You know I'd never–.”

“No.” Sam snapped, moving away from Dean's hand. It wasn't that he didn't cherish the feeling; Sam just knew he didn't deserve it. “That’s…that's not what was wrong…I was calling out for you...but when you got inside I just stopped and tried to get up myself…” Sam's hand shook as he pulled his hair away from his face. “Three seconds later, the house exploded…and over the flames I…I could hear…you and Cas’ screams. And I just booked it the rest of the way, not giving a shit about my ribs. I kicked at the door but it didn't give…not when I kicked it and I pounded at it until my knuckles turned bloody…not even a fucking rattle. I might as well have been picking at a concrete wall with a toothpick…I…felt you guys banging on the other side…heard you and Cas call my name until the smoke–.” Sam cut himself off and paled. The dream had been so vivid that Sam was still fighting off the psychosomatic remnants. The smell of the fire and smoke, the pain of his broken rib and bloody knuckles, the dread…

Dean firmly but gently took ahold of Sam's arm, who went with Dean easily as if in a trance. Dean sat on his bed against the headboard, pulled Sam down beside him and put his head in his lap. Sam sighed somewhat contentedly and curled into Dean's stomach latching his arms around him. Dean brushed his brother's hair out of his face. “It was just a dream, Sammy.”

Dean felt Sam’s throat lurch as he swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It was awhile before Dean spoke again, silently keeping a steady pace on Sam's hair. “I'm sorry.”

Sam tilted his head back to look at Dean; hazel eyes boring into culpable bottle green irises. “For what?”

“You know, for saying you didn't care about what happened to Cas. That's bullshit and I know that. I don't know why I said it, it was an asshole move especially after you spent all that time researching–.”

Sam, with a firm hand around the back of his neck, pulled Dean’s face to his. Dean closed his eyes and let the kiss happen, even though he felt as if he didn’t deserve it. “I forgive you.” Sam whispered though it wasn't quite true; the logical part of him knew that he and Dean had more important things to worry about than his hurt feelings. “…We're both on edge. I…I think we should try to treat this like any other hunt. We can't let it get to us; that’s how mistakes happen.”

“But we got nothing, Sam.” Dean complained. “And I mean nothing. Not a single fucking lead.”

“You sure about that?” Sam raised eyebrows in doubt. “What started all this, Dean? Why do we think Cas is missing in the first place?”

Realization dawned on Dean, evident in his slightly widening eyes. “Wings.”

“Right. Did we even look at them? I mean, really look at them.” Sam smiled with chagrin. “We’ll head back home tomorrow.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “That's another thing, why didn't we go back to the bunker anyway? I hadn't been driving that long.”

“You weren’t the only one eager for an explanation.” Sam lazily kissed Dean again. “Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Sammy.”


	7. Give Me Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Cas chapter but I don't think this one is as gory as the others that have happened or to be honest that will happen...Anyway the majority of this chapter and the next one are flashbacks.

**_Give a little time to me or burn this out_ **

**_We'll play hide and seek to turn this around_ **

**_All I want is the taste that your lips allow_ **

 

No matter how many times the scalding tar had dripped onto his skin, Castiel never got used to the pain. Nor the smell. There was no stench like that of burning flesh. No matter how hard Castiel tried he couldn't gather enough strength to heal himself with Grace. Every attempt had left him exhausted and embarrassed. Embarrassed because once Camael had realized the reason for Castiel's repeated bouts of concentration, had mocked him.  _”Oh, Castiel. Do you see what happens when you don't tell your brother things? I could have saved you all this unnecessary toil...”_ Camael had been delighted to inform Castiel that he had been cut off from Heaven’s grace. No healing. No teleporting. No hearing prayers.

Yet another one of Castiel’s dry screams echoed the hollow room as the skin of his thighs singed.

“Scream all you please, Castiel, this all ends on my say so.” Camael stated.

Castiel had had enough. He was done. He would no longer accept Camael living off his pain and humiliation. Castiel would do the one thing he could that would deprive his brother of his satisfaction. He would leave.

Castiel took in heavy breaths and let his body fall slack against his restraints before delving into the deep recesses of his mind.

_Cas appeared without warning once again, though the only difference now was Sam and Dean took much longer to realize his arrival._

_Sam was straddling Dean's lap on the motel couch. His arms were around Dean's neck and his fingers laced his brother's crown. Both of them were shirtless, Cas zoned in on one single trickle of sweat that cascaded slowly down the sculpted dip of Sam's back._

_Dean's arms appeared to have a vice grip on Sam's waist as he thrust upward, grinding their denim-clad cocks together. “C'mon, Sammy. Lemme get you there.”_

_“Dean.” Sam moaned. “Please, don't stop. Feel so...gnnh.” Sam's train of thought completely derailed when Dean's mouth looked to have closed over one of Sam's nipples. The noise Sam made was almost enough to make a cherub shed a tear._

_“Good?” Dean guessed, his mouth laving the space between the two nubs. “Feels good, baby boy?”_

_Sam nodded and leant in to Dean's ear and even Castiel had to strain somewhat to hear what the younger Winchester said. “Better than anything, big brother.”_

_Dean came; his eyes finally leaving his brother's face to roll into the back of his head, but catching on a slightly embarrassed yet infatuated angel standing stock still at the entrance of the room._

_Dean's eyes widened almost comically as he pushed his brother off him and stood. “Oh, shit.”_

_Sam turned to see Castiel, though unlike his brother fear colored his face like obscene graffiti. “Oh, God no.”_

_Dean had wasted no time to stand protectively in front of Sam. “Cas, whatever you're thinking about doing...don't. Sam and me–.”_

_“Have something very ethereal and I hope you will accept my deepest apologies for interrupting. I will leave you be.” Castiel teleported to just outside the door –unbeknownst to the Winchesters– just as Dean called him. “Wait, Cas!”_

_Some part of Castiel had sighed in relief as he returned to the motel room. “Yes?”_

_“So, what?” Dean prodded. “You're sayin' you're…okay with this?”_

_Castiel internally deflated; that wasn't entirely what he had been hoping for. But he tilted his head to the side nonetheless, “Yes. As my Father, I am completely indifferent to sexual orientation. I do not have to remind you that God did not write the Bible, do I?”_

_“No,” Sam piped up; his entire stance and demeanor attempting to make him smaller –shoulders hunched and head hung low. Dean still refused to move from in front of him. “But what about the other part...Dean and I are–.”_

_“Brothers, yes.” Castiel finally understood the puppy dog eyes Dean had constantly complained about. The gaze tugged at his heart strings and made him feel obligated to explain. “Do you know why incest is so abhorred throughout society?”_

_Dean winced at the word 'incest' but both of them shook their heads._

_“The impact of inbreeding on the children of incestuous intercourse. Since you both are in no danger of becoming impregnated I fail to see the problem. Another issue brought up is coercion...and I sincerely doubt either of you forced the other into this relationship so again I am failing to see any quandary with this situation.” Castiel desperately yearned to leave, but he knew if he didn't say what was on his mind he never would. “What you both have...it is beautiful.”_

_Dean and Sam risked a glance to each other. “What?”_

_“What you both share is something people rarely find in their lifetime and something even I have yet to come across in my existence.” Castiel finally met the Winchester’s eyes. “ True love.” Sam and Dean’s eyes flickered with bright hope at Cas’ words. “Even through my coveting, I admire your strength–.”_

_Dean scoffed. “Strength? We’re together, not fighting in a war.”_

_Castiel’s lips curled upward at the older Winchester’s ever-present need to refute a compliment. “Strength is not solely measured in brawn, Dean. But as I was saying, I admire your strength to look past your lineage and gender to be together without regret.”_

_Sam was staring at Cas like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle while Dean looked at a loss for words. Dean cleared his throat, “Thanks, Cas, for being, uh, you know, open-minded.”_

_Castiel trained his eyes to the floor before he stepped towards the door. “I interrupted your...moment before for which I apologize but I am sure you wish to carry on so I will be–.”_

_“Coveting.”_

_Sam’s soft voice rendered Castiel motionless. “Pardon?”_

_“You said coveting. Of all the words to use; you said coveting.”_

_Castiel refused to turn around. “I merely meant that I was envious of you and your brother’s relationship, nothing more.”_

_“Bullshit.” Sam stood abruptly. “If that’s what you meant, you would have said it.”_

_“Sam, drop it.” Dean ordered, hands clenching into fists._

_“No.” Sam muled in that unique Winchester way. “He wants it, he just thinks he’ll ruin what we have and you want it but you’re too scared to make the first move, just like you were with me. If I wait for you both to admit it I’d fucking keel over.”_

_Castiel was speechless. Dean was scared silent. Sam was quietly patient._

_“Sam is right.” Cas said to the ugly motel room floor. Dean’s head shot up at Castiel’s words. “I do not wish to destroy your relationship, I have known for a while my feelings for you both were not...appropriate and I–.”_

_“Appropriate?” Dean echoed._

_Castiel focused on Dean. “Yes. As an angel of the lord we are made to love only our Father and to appreciate his creations so for me to have developed feelings for you and brother especially such…carnal ones is inappropriate.”_

_“Fuck appropriate, Cas! Jesus.” Dean blurted. “God, just say what you want! Say what you want without thinking about what’ll happen or who’ll judge you or even if you’ll fucking get struck by lightning! Just...say what you want.”_

_Castiel swallowed thickly and shut his eyes, fully prepared for the worst. “I want you...both.”_

_Sam and Dean both sputtered out sounds of relief and took measured steps toward the paranoid angel; whose tense posture suggested that he was bracing himself for a physical reprimand not Dean’s fingertips tilting his head up to his lips. Having never kissed anyone, Castiel hadn’t another kiss to compare Dean’s to, but that did not mean that he could not describe the sensation._

_For some reason Castiel had expected Dean's lips to be cool but they were warm and soft, like the wrong side of a pillow. Dean’s kisses were gentle but very sure, there was no hesitation or waver, he enjoyed what he was doing and didn’t regret a single moment of it. Soon –too soon– if one had bothered to ask Castiel, Dean pulled away and Sam took his stead. Sam Winchester on the other hand was a completely different story. Sam threw all qualms and innocence away when he kissed; he made good use of his tongue and teeth utilizing them both with good balance and without pause._

_When Sam detached his lips from Cas’, he took in deep, much needed breaths._

_“Was that okay?” Dean and Sam said in unison; Dean’s bass and Sam’s tenor voices coming together in tandem._

_“No.” The angel replied, tilting his head in endearment rather than in confusion at the sight of the hunters’ disappointed faces. “It was–.”_

The familiar searing pain of fire ruthlessly interrupted Castiel’s trip down memory lane. A wretched cry jaggedly left Cas’ mouth before he had a chance to stifle it.

“Perfect. I thought I had lost you.” Camael set down the pail of hot tar on a rickety desk beside Castiel’s chair and lowered his mouth to Castiel’s ear. Castiel pulled away as much as possible. “I can’t break you just yet. I have that set aside for a certain audience.”


	8. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains weecest. Sam is 15. If that makes you itchy, I suggest you stop reading because I love weecest as long as its consensual.

**_“I'll make this right,_ **

**_and wait all night if that's what it takes._ **

**_I can't believe this skin is one we've always been with_ **

**_for as long as we recall it for_ **

**_everything that it's been through.”_ **

 

Sam woke up the next morning to find that he and Dean had not moved from their position the night before, which was strange because both of them were notorious for moving in their sleep, bad dream or not. Sam leaned back on Dean’s lap, lolling his head against Dean’s thighs; he began to trace the dips of Dean’s abdomen and chest. Outlining the scars that had haphazardly accumulated there, Sam smirked at the ones he remembered stitching up himself.

_‘Stay here, Sam.’_

_‘You’re not ready yet, Sam.’_

_‘Salt and lock all the windows and doors, Sam.’_

_‘Don’t slack on your training just because we won’t be here, Sam.’_

_“Friggin’ bullshit.” Sam muttered to himself as he took his Biology textbook out of his book bag and collapsed on the crap motel room’s crap couch. Once again left behind while Dean and Dad headed to hunt a Wendigo in Iowa. He was ready. He’d done all the training, learned basic knowledge, and then some. Hell, he even knew more than Dean. Dean, who in all his drop-out glory, still found excuses not to brush up on his lore._

_Next time he was gonna fight harder if Dad said no, the only reason he had kept his mouth shut was because Dean had thrown him a worried glance when Dad’s back was turned. ‘Why not?’ Sam had mouthed as Dad spouted all the reminders Sam already knew verbatim. Dean had just shaken his head and busied himself with ‘packing’ his already packed bag. Sam had sneered but relented, resorting to silently fume even as Dean flashed him one of his crooked grins implying he was going to make it up/explain later. Sam had hardly wasted his breath on a goodbye._

_Not one minute after they had left Dean came back in. “Forgot my phone.” Sam didn’t given him the time of day and pretended to be fully engrossed in his textbook on the couch._

_“Sam.” Dean said from right behind the couch._

_Sam scowled at a diagram of mitosis before looking up, straight ahead. “What?”_

_“Stop being such a bitch.” Suddenly warm gun-calloused hands were tilting his head up into a kiss. It was weird –both of them facing opposite directions– but somehow they made it work. They kissed for what felt like hours –time passed differently when Dean kissed him– when his brother had pulled away. “I just don’t want you hurt? Okay?”_

_Sam shook his head and sat up, facing the back of the couch. “You’re never going to_ want _me hurt. So you never want me to hunt?”_

_Dean pursed his lips in assent. “Touché. But still, I wanna keep you safe for as long as I can.” Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother’s. “And don’t look at me like that.”_

_“Like what?” Sam asked, unfolding his features to an innocent neutral expression._

_Dean leaned in closer. “Like I don’t notice your training or your fucking photographic memory when it comes to lore and Latin because…I…do.” He enunciated each word with his lips against Sam’s neck, chuckling at the goosebumps that sprouted._

_Sam bit at his lip. “Thanks.” Suddenly remembering their father, sighed. “Now go. Dad’s gonna wonder why it took you ten minutes to get your phone.”_

_Dean slid his hands under Sam’s shirt. “I’ll just tell him you hid it.”_

_Sam shuddered. “Jerk.”_

_“Bitch.” Dean gently kneaded at Sam’s waist and smirked at the moan he’d gotten in return._

_Sam indulged Dean for a few more moments before squirming. “Go. Dean. Now.”_

_“Don’t wanna.” Dean’s muffled voice said into Sam’s collar bone but pulled away._

_“Yes, you do.”_

_“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean pocketed his phone as he started to jog to the car where Dad had started to honk._

_“Dean, wait.” Dean stopped and fixed his gaze on Sam who looked down at the ugly couch between them. “Come back in one piece, kay?”_

_Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, ‘course, Sammy.”_

_Sam shook his head as he looked up, panic and worry brightening his eyes to an almost cerulean. “No. Promise, Dean.”_

_Dean ran back to Sam and planted a quick but passionate kiss on his lips and nodded. “Promise.”_

_That was Thursday night._

_Sam had spent all Friday at school smiling as he absentmindedly licked his lips, tasting what was left of Dean’s goodbye kiss, not giving a shit at the awkward stares he got._

_At the start of the weekend, Sam had quickly run out of things to do; having finished all his homework Friday night, purely on the off chance Dean and Dad came back early. They didn’t. So he trained only to treat himself to a banana split at the diner down the block, studied History and creatures of the dark, and jacked off to his favorite Dean fantasy before conking out early in front of the TV._

_Sam awoke to sound of explosions and bad graphics. Wiping his face, he turned off the TV with a sideways glance at the clock on the nightstand: 12:42. After he took a piss and drank a glass of water –it made sense to him–, Sam decided to go to back to sleep but before he could shut his eyes the door busted open._

_“Sam!” John’s booming voice called; out of breath and panicked._

_Sam was out of bed like a shock had gone through him –ready for anything, but what he saw at the door made him forget all his training. John was struggling to keep a pale shivering mass from collapsing at his side while he closed the door with his foot. That wasn’t Dean. It couldn’t be Dean. It was Dean. “Heya, Sammy.” He coughed._

_“Sam, quit standing there and help. Jesus.”_

_It took Sam a couple of moments before his feet finally got the message and started moving. He took Dean’s other side only to be met with a scream of pain that chilled Sam down to the marrow. “Easy, Sam, that’s where the gashes are. C’mon, to the bed.” Sam and John slowly half-carried Dean to the bed Sam had only just occupied._

_“Help him take off his shirt and jacket.” John ordered and headed to the door. “I gotta go back to the car and get the first aid kit.”_

_Sam practically pounced on the bed beside Dean who already had one arm out of his jacket. “Jesus. Dean, fuck.”_

_His brother laughed slightly and coughed up a glob of blood-colored saliva. “Fun night?”_

_“Dean, what the fuck happened?” Sam took his other arm out of his jacket and tossed it to the side. Not wanting to bother, Sam tore the already shredded shirt and used the fabric to help the other balled up t-shirt at Dean’s ribs._

_Dean had the nerve to pull his lips up into a smirk but still winced when Sam added pressure to his wound. “Wendigo must’ve thought I was sashimi. You gonna stitch me up?”_

_Sam shook his head, “N-n-no. Dean, you know I’ve only worked on_ [ _oranges_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/411362) _.”_

_“Ye–.” –Dean adjusted himself, stretching his wound– “Son of a bitch…Practicing for the real thing, right?”_

_Sam didn’t have a chance to answer. “Sam, here.” John tossed his youngest son a beaten box of first aid supplies. “You gotta stitch him up.”_

_“Why can’t you?” Sam cringed at the crack in his voice._

_“Can’t do it with one hand, Sam.” John muttered as he took a bottle of cheap whiskey from the kitchenette’s counter and poured himself a glass before giving it to Sam. Sure enough, John was holding one of his arms awkwardly against his chest. He looked about twenty years older when he plopped himself on the couch._

_“Told ya.” Dean mumbled only to pass out._

_“Dean!” Sam rushed to check his brother’s pulse, anxiously waiting to feel it against his shaking fingertips. He released a quiet sigh of relief before opening the tin box and emptying its contents on the mattress. Sam quickly threaded the needle with scarily still hands, sterilized it with the whiskey, and pulled back the drenched shirts to do the same to Dean’s side. Good. The bleeding stopped. Dean quietly whimpered and subconsciously squirmed away from the burn. Sam held Dean in place by his hips that were just a few degrees too cold. “Hold still, Dean. Please.”_

_Dean swallowed thickly and stilled but otherwise ignored his brother. Sam took a deep, deep breath before going to work. Dean’s skin was a little tougher to stick the needle through than an orange peel and Sam cringed in sympathy at the little pop. When Dean had started to make pained noises, Sam decided to speak softly to him. “I know. I know it hurts. I’m sorry, De. But I bet you ganked the son of a bitch, didn’t you?”_

_Dean now somewhat lucid, nodded stiffly. “Burned th’ freak.”_

_“Good. You know you’re gonna have scars when these heal.” Sam said reaching for the spool of thread and scissors._

_Dean groaned. “Damn it.”_

_Sam smiled and leaned into his brother’s ear. “Don’t worry. Scars? A huge turn on for me. When they’re healed and the skin is rough, I’m gonna run my fingers over them until you’re–.”_

_Dean groaned again but for an entirely different reason if his hard-on was anything to go by. “Sammy.”_

_“Shush. Dad’s right over there. I’ll be done in a minute.” Sam continued the last strand to seal up the final end of Dean’s gash, ran some more whiskey over it, spread antiseptic cream over his work, and covered it with clean gauze. While he was washing Dean’s blood off his hands in the bathroom, Dean came up behind him, closing the door behind him soundlessly._

_“Dean!” Sam managed to scream at whisper-level. “What the fuck are you doing up? You’re gonna–.”_

_Suddenly, Dean’s cool hand was sliding past the waistband of his boxers and around Sam’s cock. Dean met Sam’s eyes in the mirror and smirked, “What? What am I gonna do?”_

_Sam thrust into the loose circle of Dean’s hand.  “Bust your st-stitches. Oh, God. Dean.”_

_“Feel good, baby boy?” Dean must have drank a tumbler of gravel with his voice sounding like that. Sam let his head slump back on Dean’s shoulder in answer. “Why don’t you tell me more about my scars, huh?”_

_Sam moaned in his throat, still mindful of their father less than twenty-five feet away. “I-I-I would run my hands over them, trace them with my nails just enough to feel it, lick them until they ran hot and then blow over them–.”_

_Dean started to grind against his brother; his rough denim a delicious contrast to his soft calloused hands. “Keep going, Sammy.”_

_“Ah. Okay. I would kiss them, a lot, I-I would kiss them so much that you wouldn’t be able to lo-look at them without thinking of me. Until you forgot the pain and only remembered me, making them feel good.” Sam was drawing closer to the edge and he wanted Dean with him so he picked up the pace. “Oh, my God, Dean, I’m gonna–.” Dean barely caught his growl before going in to kiss Sam. He used his tongue to pry Sam’s mouth open and poured his noises into his mouth and Sam did the same._

_Wanting to see his brother’s face for real when he came, Dean quickly spun Sam around to face him. Sam had to take ahold of his shoulders to avoid losing balance but he didn’t mind. “You there, baby boy?”_

_Sam practically sobbed. “I’m there, Dean. Please.” Dean knew what Sam was begging for; his loose grip just wasn’t doing it for him. It had got him there, sure, but the lack of pressure was just toying with him; holding him inches from the precipice. “De,” Sam whimpered just as Dean tightened his hand into a fist and sped up._

_“Is that what you wanted, baby boy?” Sam jaw dropped in a banal but sincere ‘o’ face before the white stars blinded his vision and he shot spurt after spurt of come over Dean’s hand. When Dean got his fill of Sam’s blissed out expression, he too fell over the edge. As they slowly came down from their high, Sam and Dean pressed their foreheads together and breathed in each other’s air. “I’m sorry.”_

_Sam lifted his gaze to find his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What for?”_

_“I promised.” Dean replied like it was obvious. “But it went after Dad and I just reacted, I just jumped without thinking.”_

_Sam tightened his hands at the thought of John being somehow responsible of Dean getting hurt but he suppressed it. “Dean, no. I shouldn’t have made you promise that. Now that I’ve seen you get seriously hurt, I know what to expect…sort of, I can prepare myself, and I know I’ll be able to fix you.” Sam swallowed and pressed his lips to the corner of Dean’s eye. “You do have to promise me one thing though.”_

_Dean nodded his head “Anything.”_

_“Don’t…die. Okay? Not before you’re supposed to. I don’t think I could take…”_

_Dean’s breath caught in his throat and pressed Sam’s body impossibly closer to his. It had to have hurt his wound, but Dean didn’t so much as wince. “Never leaving you, Sammy. Promise.”_

 

Sam sat up and rested back on Dean’s chest, letting his lips brush against his brother’s neck. “Wake up, Dean.”

“What time’s’t?” Dean’s syllables were barely discernible underneath his sleepy lips.

Sam glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Time to go.”

Dean settled deeper into the bed and managed to groan equal parts sleepy and petulant. “Feels like I just closed my eyes.”

“Same here. But we gotta get a move on. You know we do.”

Dean’s eyes opened with a suppressed sigh, “Yeah, alright.”

Sam gave Dean a quick kiss. “Come on, let’s go. The faster we get home; the faster we can get a lead and the faster we can find Cas.”

Dean was the first to shower, knowing that Sam deserved a longer one. They got dressed in complete silence, meeting each other’s eyes every few minutes to assure and reassure. While Sam was pulling on his boots Dean tossed something to him, he caught the keys reflexively. Sam looked at his brother in asking but Dean was already on his way to the car, bags in tow.

Sam slid into the driver seat and he knew it was going to be a long and tense trip when Dean reclined in the passenger seat closing his eyes, body angled toward the door. Sam bit his lip and turned on the ignition, thinking that Dean may still have been too angry –at the people who may have taken Cas– to make this car ride any more bearable, but Dean surprised Sam by letting his hand graze his as he shoved a Zeppelin tape into the deck. It was a simple gesture and done by anyone else would have been passed off as an accident but this was Dean. And accidents don’t just happen accidentally. “Drive, bitch.”

Sam couldn’t hide his grin as he turned up the volume to Stairway to Heaven. “Jerk.”

The car ride was quiet but not deafeningly so; Plant’s dulcet voice swept throughout the car, but neither of them spoke a single word. Although the silence was tense and worrisome, it was light with a feeling Sam couldn’t find a name for until they started closing in on the Batcave. Hope.

Sam and Dean returned to the bunker just as the sun reached its peak. If they realized that they took their time making their way into the bunker neither of them mentioned it. Dean and Sam took measured steps as if the sounds of their boot-clad feet would disturb the still silence of the foyer.

It was hard to tell whether or not it was a good thing that the wings continued to lie there; the feathers having wilted into loose knots and dulled to an ugly hue of dark gray that was pronounced by a shallow pool of crimson blood the wings now float in, and lingering flesh attached to the roots of the wings was cracked in dryness from exposure.

Sam took a hesitant step toward the wings as if they were wild horses; ready to run off with no plans for return. He bent closer and started to run a gentle hand over them but pulled back sharply when the feathers crumbled away to dust at the touch of his fingers. “What the hell?” Sam went out on a limb and blew at the wings like a child would a dandelion seedling. Sure enough, the feathers fell apart to a fine dust before decorating the puddle of blood like poppy seeds. But a glint of iridescence caught Sam’s eye. Sam cocked his head to the side and squinted.

“Sam?” Dean said so softly Sam barely heard it. “You see something?”

Sam outstretched his hand behind him, his eyes still fixed on the wings. “I think so. C’mere.”

Dean suppressed a sigh and knelt beside his brother. “What is it?” Sam, still tilting his head, pulled Dean down to his level and tipped his head to the same angle. “Sam, what the hell are y–?”

“Do you see it?”

Dean nervously coincided as he focused even more closely on the wings. “Is that…?”

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat and got up. “Those may not be Cas’ wings but they’re definitely an angel’s.”

The noon sun suddenly streamed through undrawn windows, striking the wings. Enochian, in small iridescent script, was ingrained into every feather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I got the idea for the oranges from Sure Got A Dirty Mouth by JustineDelarge. I asked her like the spaz I am and she said it was okay because she is amazing. :)


	9. Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. This chapter made me its bitch.

**_Tell me why does my heart make a fool of me?_ **

**_Seems it’s my destiny_ **

**_For love to cause me misery_ **

 

 

Castiel tried to keep his mind off the residual burning and smell coming from between his legs. Camael had left him over three hours ago to do God knows what. Castiel could only hope he was staying away from Sam and Dean. A wrenching pain clutched at his already aching heart, as much as Castiel believed he would return to the Winchesters a stubborn pessimistic voice in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn’t. He could feel himself slowly losing his faith as well as his Grace, both slowly seeping themselves from his body like blood from a wound.

Castiel was trying so hard to keep a hold on both of them but they kept slipping from his weak grasp like wisps of air. Castiel shut his eyes and thought of what Sam and Dean would do. Pray to him of course. But Castiel didn’t have such a privilege, no one was listening and the few who were most likely didn’t care. So in act of desperation, Castiel prayed to Sam and Dean. But as selfish as he was, Castiel couldn’t find it in his heart to pray for them to rescue him. It wouldn’t have been fair. _“…the moment that those ingrates walk through that door they are as good as dead.”_ So instead Castiel prayed for them to stay away.

Sharp staccato footsteps started from the end of the room and slowly approached Castiel. Camael ran a slow hand over Castiel’s stretched body, the soft brushes were a great contrast to the agony Castiel had endured but he still found himself flinching away from the touch. Only two people on this Earth got to touch him in such a way. “Rested?”

Castiel kept his eyes on the ceiling. He had long since stopped reacting to Camael taunts, insults, and demeaning rhetoric.

“Before we start, I still must ask you: will you repent, Castiel, for your egregious sins against our Father?”

Castiel had no trouble setting Camael’s eyes now. This would be the last time he answered this question. “There can be no corruption in that of pure love and all these sins that you wish me to repent for are all done in the act of love. It is not my burden if you cannot see that. Nothing you do will ever make me regret my love for the Winchesters or my acting upon it.”

Camael narrowed his cold grey eyes, casting a gaze full of abhorrent disgust on the wounded angel. “I would not wage on that, Castiel.” The upright angel glanced over at an antique potbelly oven standing a few meters away and smiled. “No. I think I’ll save that for later.” He said to himself but no doubt to scare Castiel. Nevertheless, Camael snapped his fingers and a chair of sorts appeared about 20 paces away. Another snap and Castiel was occupying the chair; arms bound to the arm rests and his neck restrained by a cold leather strap.

Camael’s voice sounded from behind him. “This will tighten until you repent for your depravities against our God, Castiel.” There was an expectant silence casted by Camael.

Castiel unfalteringly set his eyes straight ahead. “Please remember that you cannot extract repentance from a corpse, brother.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I know I can extract one from a man with so much to lose. Tell me Castiel, why? Why ignore your morals, the code, to indulge in those sins of the flesh? Why protect them?” The genuine confusion and curiosity in Camael’s voice loosened something in Castiel.

“I can only assume that you would understand only if you knew what love was.”

Without warning, Camael mentally tightened the garrote string. “I do understand love, Castiel, and that disease that you share with those…abominations is not love. Have you forgotten that they opened the first and last seals? They treat death as if it were some carnival game; if they lose so be it, they can sell their souls for another chance. Their mere existence is blasphemous.”

“They knew not of what their actions would consequence.”

“Ignorantia legis neminem excusat.” Camael shot back. The string pulled taut again.

Castiel felt the edges of the garrote press into the sensitive skin of throat as he swallowed. Eyes still straight ahead. “Believe what you will. Say what you wish. Do as you please.”

Camael pulled the garrote taut again. “Do not patronize me.” Castiel had begun to succumb to the effects from lack of oxygen; the two sides of throat felt as if they were touching–making it hard to swallow, he felt (heard?) his heartbeat in his head, and his vision had started to swim and blur. His face felt tight and hot.

“You mistake my acceptance for patronization because you lack the confidence to carry out your sadism, brother.” Castiel managed to cough out. That earned him a backhand and another tightening of the garrote cord.

“Believe me, brother, it is not confidence that I lack, it is tolerance.” With another heavy-handed jerk of the garrote cord, Castiel’s vision grayed out.


	10. Heart's A Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shhhh. You hear that? That's the sound of a new character.

**_“Your heart's a mess_ **

**_You won't admit to it_ **

**_It makes no sense_ **

**_But I'm desperate to connect_ **

**_You can't live like this.”_ **

 

Sam and Dean immediately went on the warpath. They roamed every one of the bunk’s shelves, cabinets, and rooms for any book that appeared to even have the possibility to explain or mention angels or their wings. After countless trips to the main room and back, the boys managed to gather at least five dozen books which they surrounded themselves with for the rest of the day only taking short breaks for food and the bathroom.

Sam couldn’t help looking up from his book every so often to check on Dean...whose eyes were still glued to the same two pages. “Dean? Found something?”

“You really think I wouldn't have said anything if I had, Sam?” Dean muttered, wiping a hand over his tired face. They had been at this for hours and had barely begun to make a dent in the research.

Sam cleared his throat. “You haven’t turned the page in the last hour, Dean.”

Dean directed his eye-roll to the oak floor but said, “There’s a reason I didn't go to college, Sam, I'm a slow reader. Forgive me.”

Sam snapped his book closed and flung it on the table with a resolute smack. “Stop it, Dean.”

“Stop what?” Dean deserted his book as well, glancing towards the angel wings as he passed them to the kitchen. “Stop pretending it’s not Cas’ wings shriveling up in the next room like a fucking tumor? Stop pretending that your dream could damn well happen–?”

“No.” Sam interrupted with an equally dead voice, leaning jadedly against the doorway. “Stop acting like Dad.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Dean smirked as he poured himself a cup of less than lukewarm coffee. No cream. No sugar.

“You know as well as I do that except for when it comes to hunting it is a bad thing, Dean. I may have taken the lion’s share of his stubbornness but Dean, you...you are a carbon-copy of him when it comes to sharing.”

“Well, I am so sorry,” Dean sarcastically apologized as he emptied the rest his coffee down the drain, “that I don't share enough for you, Sammy, but unlike you, talking about my feelings so someone can dissect them doesn’t turn me on.”

Cue bitchface #94. “Screw you, Dean. I don’t know how the hell you got it in your head that you’re the only one hurting but I'm telling you right now; you’re being a self-righteous asshole.”

“Careful, Sam, your soul isn't showing.” And the instant the words left his mouth Dean knew he had gone too far. “Wait, Sam, I–.” He called but only the front door slamming shut answered him. He followed his brother’s heavy footsteps outside into the frigid air to find Sam leaning against the rusting iron rails above the main door. He doggedly slid his hands into his pockets and climbed the hill to stand beside him; far enough to give Sam space but just close enough to share body heat.

“Sammy, I–.”

“No, Dean. It’s fine. Everything’s...fine.” Sam shrugged with a quick indifferent face.

The lazy part of Dean nearly let it go but the other part of him knew that if he did their little banters that danced around the real problem would only keep on happening. “No, it’s not. I was out of line.”

“Which time exactly?” Sam muttered, still looking straight ahead. “When you accused me of not caring about Cas? Or when you used one of the worst times of my life to insult me? I'm having trouble keeping track, Dean.”

Dean tried to mask his look of surprise at Sam's mention of yesterday’s fight. “If it still bothered you then why did you say you forgave me?”

“Because we have other important shit going on besides my feelings, Dean!” Sam exclaimed. “I figured: ‘yeah, he’s hurting; I'll let him use me as an emotional punching bag. Whatever. It’s better than him holding it in.’ But,  _God,_  Dean, you...you know just how to push all of my buttons.” Sam sighed and stood up straight. “Look, I'm gonna go research some more. You’re tired, you should–.”

“Sam, please-.” Dean let out a mirthless breath. “I can't believe you're actually making me the one that wants to talk shit out. Jedi fucking mind trick.” That at least earned him one of Sam's trying-not-to-smile smiles. ”Look, Sammy. I'm sorry. I really am. You care about Cas just as much as I do and I _know_ that. I just...fuck; I don't know how to explain it so you’ll understand.”

“Try me.” Sam ordered.

Dean next words all came out in a rush. “I knew him first, you know? Profound bond and all that crap. I mean, he pulled me out of Hell and, yeah, at first, all I could think was he brought me back to you but after a while I just thought, he saved me –and I don't care what he says he didn't just do it because God commanded it.” Dean laughed inwardly. “I sound like an idiot.”

“No.” Sam shook head. “You don’t. Why do you think I love Cas, Dean? I love him because he brought you back to me. I love him because he was the angel that cared the most about your choices. I love him because anytime I couldn’t save you I could count on him to do it for me. I love him...because he loves you, Dean.”

The men startled at the sound of slow clapping. They turned in unpracticed synchronization, their hands automatically finding the weapons at their hips, to see a short masculine figure theatrically emerging from the backwoods. The figure stopped just under the cusp of the moonlight and smiled; the teeth of his smirk a gleaming white. “Hello, boys.”


	11. Mercy On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another torture chapter. The sick part of my mind was running out of ideas for torture so I Googled and Wikied (sp?) and found this torture called abacination...not for those with a weak stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. There's no excuse for this wait. I'm a lazy asshole. BUT I SWEAR ON MY LIFE I will have another chapter up within the next couple of days.

**_“Mother Mary, full of grace_ **

**_In my weakness, I've lost faith_ **

**_I've been careless, and I have been warned_ **

**_And the devil inside me is torn_ **

**_God bless the men that I have scorned.”_ **

 

Death. Death, he would now welcome with open arms and a smile upon his face. There could be nothing worse than this. This was beyond agony and grueling. This was Hell; it had to be; nothing as horrendous as this could possibly exist on God's Earth. How long had this session gone on? Hours? Seconds? Pain had a cruel way of warping one’s concept of time. All that Castiel was sure of was that ache would have been a paradise. Hurt, a soft bed to lie. There was no word for this. God nor Man had intended for any creature to experience a feeling such as this.

It seemed that with every breath his misery greatened, but soon the slowly breaking angel had realized holding his breath did nothing to ease his torment.  ”Please, Camael. Stop. _Please_.”

“You know what will stop this, Castiel.”

Castiel, despite his pain, hesitated. If he repented to a God that was no longer listening for sins he did not regret would it really matter? Just as he was about to open his mouth Camael pressed the scalding plate against Castiel’s shut eyes even harder. “I am sorry. You must be punished for your sins, Castiel.”

Castiel screamed as the heat intensified and for the first time since the moment he had been subjected to this torture Castiel cried. Castiel cried like he never had before. Cried because he knew Death would not come easy; He was going to arrive jagged and slow. His tears burned his wounded eyes like acid but it didn't matter; Castiel had finally come to realize that nothing would stop this torture. Not Camael or his improbable mercy. Not himself. Not Sam or Dean. Not God. No one.

At last, Castiel gave up hope.


	12. Million Dollar Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm a lying asshole and have no excuse for my lateness except laziness and procrastination.

**_“I don't know how you convince them and get them, but_ **

**_I don't know what you do, it's unbelievable._ **

**_And I don't know how you get over, get over_ **

**_Someone as dangerous, tainted, and flawed as you.”_ **

  

“Oh, you won't kill me.” Crowley assured the Winchesters with a smirk that seemed to have and probably did hold countless secrets and plots. The man looked the same but didn’t. He had swapped out his trench coat for a dark gray Paddock coat though he still sported a well–fitted suit under it. But aside from his slight wardrobe change, Crowley seemed…happier. More at peace. Not in the ‘I am fully prepared to watch you suffer at what I have under my sleeve’ kind of way but in a ‘things are finally going how I want them to’ kind of way.

“And why’s that?” Dean's hand tightened on his gun at the flashes of Lisa and Ben. Sam, sensing his brother’s distress, did the same.

“You boys have...what was it?” Crowley pretended to think. “Ah, yes, morals.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do our morals have to do with pumping your ass full of rock salt?”

Crowley smirked again. “Because it wouldn't do a damn thing, squirrel.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“Last time I checked salt didn't affect humans.”

The silence was deafening as Sam and Dean refused to lower their weapons. Sam was the first to slide his gun back into his belt, Dean didn’t. Sam quickly pulled the demon blade out of his pocket and took three cautious steps forward into Crowley’s space. If either of them were put off by Crowley’s lack of worry, they didn’t let it show. Crowley pulled up his own sleeve to reveal his skin. “Have at it.”

Sam slowly drew the blade over Crowley’s skin. There was nothing. No sizzle. No crackle of amber light. Nothing. Dean swallowed but otherwise showed no signs of surprise. “What the–?”

Crowley winced as he pulled his sleeve back down. “Are you done? Or did you want me to drink from a flask of Holy water as well?”

Sam and Dean threw each other worried looks, having a short silent conversation. Sam put Ruby’s knife back into its sheath. “Why are you here? How did you find us?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t hard. Just went to the nice old lady that runs the antique shop and asked her if she knew where my handsome college mates lived. She was very forthcoming.”

“I bet she was.” Dean snapped. “How long did you torture her?”

“You mean with my dazzling smile and wit? Oh, not long at all.” Crowley glanced at the ground. “Were you going to invite me inside?

Dean took a deliberate step forward; it was just coincidence that he now stood between the apparent used-to-be demon and Sam. “Not a chance. My brother asked you why you’re here. Answer him.”

“Brother?” Crowley laughed. “That’s not what this little podunk town thinks you are to each other, now is it?”

Dean cocked his gun. “Don’t think just because you’re human now I won’t shoot you.”

Crowley heaved a dramatic world-wearied sigh. “Fine. I am here to…help.” He made sure to look everywhere except the Winchesters.

“Help?” Sam gave Dean the signal to lower his gun. “What are you talking about?”

Crowley met his eyes. “You trying to tell me that dear old Castiel is just inside with a pink apron cooking you boys up supper?” Sam and Dean tensed in unison; partially from a brisk wind that blew through the air and partially from the mention of their lost angel. It may have been only a day but the thought had yet to settle in.

Dean advanced on Crowley, shoving him against the trunk of a stiff maple tree. “He’s been missing for two days. How do you know he’s gone?” Dean pulled him away from the tree just to push him back again. “What did you do to him?”

Crowley remained indifferent at Dean’s tacit promise of violence. “Correction: you’ve  _noticed_  Castiel’s been gone for two days no doubt because a certain someone wanted you to. Think, mates, when was the last time you two actually  _saw_  the angel?”

Dean let go of Crowley’s lapels as realization settled over him. Sam ran a hand through his hair. “August.” They said in unison.

“It’s October.” A look of pity flickered across Crowley’s face before being replaced by smug indignation. “Look, you either let me help or you can go back to sticking your noses in the spines of those useless books. Your choice though I’d be quick with it.”

“And why would you want to help us?” Dean asked, his tone clearly skeptical but his features belied him.

Crowley took a wary glance around them. “Can we please discuss this inside?”

Dean and Sam had another silent conversation, ending with Sam leading the way into the Bunker. As soon as they were inside, Crowley cringed. “What in the blazes is that smell?”

The Winchesters’ gazes went to the wings, and by now it would be pretty lenient to call them wings. The gray-black feathers have almost completely deteriorated to sickly thin twig-like stems that probably would have broken at the gentlest touch. Sam and Dean knew how asinine it was to leave the rotting appendages out but it seemed disrespectfully final to throw them away.

Crowley took in the boys’ silence for answer. “Right. Anyway, you do know me well; I don’t want to help you out of the goodness of my heart –I’ve been told quite often that I don’t have one. I’m going to help because I have an idea who took Castiel and I want to kill the winged little bugger.”

Sam and Dean perk up. “An angel took Cas?” Sam balked. It made sense, but the angel obviously was unhinged. Castiel hadn't done anything –recently­– to warrant the torture of having his wings ripped out and God knows what else.

Crowley nodded as he walked to one of the lower bookshelves turned booze-top and poured himself a drink. “A pretentious higher-up, goes by the name of Camael.”

As soon as Sam heard the name he made a bee-line for the piles of the books Dean and he had picked out. He pulled out a tattered leather-bound tome from the near-bottom of a stack with faded Latin words printed on the front and spine. Sam carefully but quickly flipped through the pages. “Camael. Camael. I’ve heard that name before.” He muttered.

Crowley tacitly offered to pour Dean a drink. To his surprise, Dean declined. Dean could hold his liquor with the best of them, but he didn’t want his mind to be even slightly bogged down by the watery shield provided by alcohol. Besides, it was sort of an unspoken deal with Sam that since they had settled down Dean’s drinking needed to be, for lack of a better word, reduced.

“Here.” Sam said, creasing down the inner pages. “Archangel Camael, He Who Sees God; the chief of the order of Powers.”

“Chief of what?” Dean interrupted.

Sam doesn’t look up. “The Order of Powers was the first group of angels created by God to protect the world from demons and to guide recently deceased souls to the next life.” Sam went back to reading. “Camael is the angel of justice and balance. He is cherished by the Divine, yet at the same time he has been concomitant with Satan and the underworld.”

Crowley chuckled. “That would be the one. Careful, don’t choke on the irony.” Crowley downed his scotch only to pour himself another. “Came across him before Jesus was a sack of cells in Mary’s womb. A group of friends and I were in Rome during the beginning of the Roman Empire…having fun. Nothing worse than what you see at some of these college parties only without the black eyes. Anyway, Camael dropped in, said a little spell and cast the possessing demons out…and then he slaughtered them.” Crowley’s hands trembled minutely trembled as his empty glass down.

Dean scoffed. “Forgive us for not shedding a tear.”

Crowley snapped his head up. “Not the demons, you moron, the vessels. Camael killed the humans;  _after_  the he cast the demons out.”


	13. Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aside from making Crowley human I have also decided to make him just a wee bit nicer. Trust me, he's still sassy and slightly crass and rude but I fully believe he has a soft spot for the Winchesters and Castiel though he doesn't like to admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Good fucking Lord. That hiatus was completely unintentional and I will be begging for your forgiveness for forever. Thank you guys so much for being so patient and I PROMISE I will never leave that much time in between chapters without letting you guys know ahead of time and giving a good-ass reason. There was, again, no excuse for this wait and I will make sure to devote more of my time to this fic. *crosses heart* Anyway, ENJOY.

**_Here we go again_ **

**_Ashamed of being broken in_ **

**_We're getting off track_ **

**_I wanna get you back again_ **

 

Sam shook his head, sure he hadn’t heard the once-demon correctly. “He what?”

“Did I stutter, Moose?” Crowley snapped, hand still trembling as he brought another tumbler-full of scotch to his expressionless mouth.

“But why?” Dean snatched the jug of scotch from him and put it out of reach. “I know angels can be dicks but even for them that sounds–.”

“Unnecessary? Cruel? Sadistic?” Crowley set his empty glass down. “I stayed and watched, wondering how he was going to explain what had happened to the meatsuits. They had barely gotten their bearings before he had started spouting this holy rant on how their souls were tainted and that if they had been true God-fearing people they wouldn’t have been possessed in the first place and that he was doing them a favor. And then he burned them alive and he stayed until the last poor bloke’s screams cut off.”

“Sounds like you did too.” Dean commented.

Crowley didn't even bother rising to the bait. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this experienced. I was young and in shock. He was the first angel I had ever encountered.”

“Wait.” Sam furrowed his brows. “You’re trying to tell us this angel sought out a group of demons only to cast them out and kill the  _humans_? That doesn’t make any sense. Even if he did believe that he was saving the humans’ souls, why would he leave the demons alive?”

“Knew there was a reason they called you the smart one.” Crowley taunted before sighing. “Angel of justice and _balance_ , remember? Perhaps he thought that killing all the demons would leave the world tilt…but then again maybe he was just following orders. You know what they say: ‘Deus qui operatur omnia in occulte.’”

“Saying it in Latin doesn’t make it anything more than bullshit.” Dean snapped.

“Sounds a bit better though, doesn’t it?” Crowley smiled mirthlessly, before turning looking around. “Hm. Nice place you’ve set up for yourselves.”

“Don’t.” Dean and Sam said in unison. Dean continued. “Don’t try to start small talk with us. We’re not your friends. Not after everything you’ve done. The only reason we haven’t killed you is because we don’t know what you have to offer but the moment you start wasting our time you’re gone.”

Crowley kept eye contact with Dean for a moment before tacitly nodding in understanding. “I am not going to lie, I kept tabs on the bugger if only to keep out of the psychopath’s way. From my findings he considers himself a regular old John Deed, doling out medieval punishments, on those who break whichever commandments tickle his fancy. Don’t ask me how he chooses which ones to smite and which ones to not I don’t know, he obviously doesn’t kill every sinner out there; everyone would be dead. All I know is that when it comes to angels, he's ruthless.”

“More ruthless than burning people alive?” And the moment Sam said it he regretted it. He knew all too well how ruthless angels could be.

Crowley nodded, trying not to meet either one’s gaze. “He would torture them until they repented. Which I suppose was fine in most cases, angels being devout and what not, but others, the rebellious ones, well, they rebelled.”

“But what happens to them, if they never repent?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Moose.” Crowley reached for the alcohol by rote but remembered himself halfway through the movement. His hand dropped listlessly to his lap again. 

Dean spoke up. “Where does he do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The torture, the murder.” Dean clarified with eerie resignation. “Does he have a place where he does it or is it always on site?”

Crowley shrugged. “Could be both or neither? For the humans in Rome he stayed on site but that could have just been because he didn’t want to dredge 50 meatsuits up to his little workshop in Heaven. As for the sinning angels, I know for a fact he tortures them in Heaven…At least he did.”

“Let me guess,” Dean inched himself that much closer to Sam, “you also know for a fact that Cas isn’t in Heaven.”

“Right you are.” Crowley stretched, pulling his shoulders to his ears before letting them drop. “So that means if we’re going to find him we’re going to have to use good old-fashioned hunting means, eh? Research, what fun.” He looked at the still unmoved men expectantly. “Hello? Anybody home? We’re not going to locate the winged freaks by sitting on our arses, so I suggest we start now.”

Dean stood from his perch on a bookshelf and inconspicuously jerked his head towards the kitchen. Sam wasted no time following his brother out of hearing range. “Dean, I know what you’re going to say–.”

“Do you?”

“You’re going to say we shouldn’t trust him and–.”

“No, I wasn’t going to say that because I’m not an idiot and neither are you. I don’t trust him and I know you don’t either. I was going to say that we need to watch our backs for Crowley. We don’t have a fucking clue how he’s human and frankly right now I don’t give a shit but he could just as easily cross us human or not and I don’t want us to be led on some wild goose chase when Cas is...” Dean fought to finish the thought. “…wherever.”

“I get it, I do. But, he looks scared out of his mind, Dean, and what he’s saying makes sense to me. So if it’s all the same to you, I just want to focus on finding Cas and if Crowley tries to pull something we’ll deal with it but right now I don’t have the extra energy to hate him.” Sam waited for his brother to nod in resolution before coming back to the war room with him.

Crowley had taken the liberty of pouring himself another cup of scotch and had the book Sam had been reading from earlier out in front of him. Without looking up from the book, Crowley swished the liquid in his glass around and asked. “So where was the last place you saw Castiel?”

“He said he was going to look into a hunt in Winthrop.” Dean started. “We could’ve gone with him but–.”

“That’s wonderful and all but that isn’t what I asked.” Crowley finally looked up. “You didn’t go with him so you couldn’t have actually  _seen_  him there, could you? So again, I ask, where was the last place you  _saw_  Castiel with your own eyes?” Crowley finished yet another drink.

Sam spoke before Dean could cruelly retort. “He was here. That doesn’t help us since there’s no way Camael could torture him here without us knowing.”

“Right about that but it could help us.”

“How?” Dean answered shortly.

Crowley looked at Dean with smug disbelief. “Why do you think Camael took Castiel, squirrel?”

Dean furrowed his brow in shocked confusion. “What? I don’t know. This Camael doesn’t exactly sound mentally stable. He could've taken Cas for anything and everything.”

“True but he’s not a schizophrenic. He doesn’t find completely innocent people and invent sins to punish them for so think. What has Castiel done that is considered a sin?”

“He did take all those souls…and Leviathans.” Sam offered.

“Not necessarily a sin.” Crowley reasoned. “Here’s a hint: think less morally wrong and more biblically wrong.”

Dean and Sam risked a glance at each other as they ran through their not exactly extensive knowledge of the Bible. The Ten Commandments: No other gods (No.), graven images (No.), taking the Lord’s name in vain (Considering the scolding he gives Dean. No.), forgetting the Sabbath (Probably not.), dishonoring parents (Up for debate.), killing (Yes.), committing adultery (Cas is a horrible liar, so no.), stealing (Yes.), bearing false witness (Yes.), and coveting (Yes. Said so himself.). The Seven Deadly Sins: Lust ( _Yes._ ), Gluttony (Only with Famine.), Greed ( _Yes._ ), Sloth (No.), Wrath ( _Yes._ ), Envy (Also up for debate.), and Pride (Yes.).

Sam raised his eyebrows to his hairline. “He’s broken three commandments and he’s committed every Deadly sin except for two but only one of his own volition.”

“Getting warmer.”

Dean snapped. He’s already fallible patience had now vanished. “It’s obvious you know so why don’t you stop with the guessing game and just fucking tell us so we can move on.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. “Leviticus mean anything to you? ‘And if a soul sin, and hear the voice of swearing, and is a witness, whether he hath seen or known of it; if he do not utter it, then he shall bear his iniquity.’ Leviticus 5:1. ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’ Leviticus 18:22. ‘If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.’ Leviticus 20:13.” The man spouted the Bible verses as a right-wing pastor would read them to his flock. “Am I ringing any bells?”

Dean kept his face unreadable while Sam could do nothing but look away in shame. “So that’s why Camael is doing this? Because we’re guys and we’re together? That’s bullshit. There are people out there, completely human, killing people over money and drugs and whatever else pisses them off in the moment. And Cas gets taken and tortured because of how he has sex?”

Crowley’s left side of his mouth twitched upward. “Yes and no. The relationship you all share is no ordinary one.” Seeing Dean was about to say something, Crowley spoke over him. “I am not talking about the number of partners or your gender or even your species. I am talking about the fact that that wanker Zachariah was wrong when he said that it was only you and Sam who were codependent. Sure, once upon a time that was true but the moment you let Castiel into your lives that codependence began to include him as well. The things you all have done to save and avenge one another are, to put it plainly, not exactly received well. Camael resents both you for bringing one of his brethren down to your level and he despises Castiel for letting you.”

Dean took in a deep but useless calming breath. He had meant for the air to calm him down, to release just a small amount of the angry tension tightening his body but it did nothing for him. If anything the excess of air made him feel all that more bloodthirsty for Camael not just for Castiel but for all the others he had wrongly killed. Dean rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “So how does knowing that Cas was here last help?”

Crowley looked at Dean in confusion for a moment before his memory caught up with where their tangent had left off. “Right. You all planned to settle down here, yes? With Castiel?” Dean nodded. Sam continued to stare in silence at the floor his face nearly completely hidden by his hair. “This place was to be your home. This place means something to you. Maybe Camael was going for poetic justice with Castiel; maybe he’s torturing him in a place that is significant to you.”

Sam stood abruptly and with no other words except a mumbled, “Be right back.”, left the room.

There was an awkward silence as Crowley and Dean watched Sam climb the stairs to their room, made more awkward by Crowley. “Was it something I said?”

Dean rolled his eyes, masking his concern. “Considering how much you’ve been running your mouth, probably.”

“Are you gonna go after him?”

Dean kept his eyes on the stairs for just moment longer before turning back to the used-to-be demon. “No. Sammy’s a big boy. He’ll come back down when he’s ready.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we don’t really have significant places just motel rooms where significant things happened. I’m not talking about sex so you can stop with the smirking.”

Crowley struggled to fight the smile off his face and was back to business in the next second. “Are you sure? No other places?”

Dean sighed, sifting through every Cas and Sam memory focusing less on them and more the locations. “Um, Stull Cemetery? That was where the big showdown was. The laboratory that you and Cas op–.” Dean stopped mid-sentence when Crowley disappeared out of thin air only to return a minute later exactly where he was.

“Nope. Not in either of those places.”

“How did you–?” Dean started.

“If you really care, I’ll explain later. Anywhere else?”

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. “ _I don’t know_. Sam met Cas in a motel room, I can’t even remember what state it was in. I summoned him with…with Bobby before I even knew what he was at this abandoned warehouse near Pontiac but Sam wasn’t there so–.” Once again Crowley vanished but this time he didn’t come back for a while. Dean went to the kitchen and filled himself a glass of water from the tap. Not realizing how thirsty he was until the water quenched his thirst, downed it and filled his cup again, taking his time.

Crowley was back by the time Dean was on his third glass. The man was out of breath and sweating, his eyes wide. “I found him. I found Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I want you guys to know that you are COMPLETELY free to message me on my Tumblr (incestiousbrothers) about my writing as well as comment. If there's a certain something that you want to see happen, if I like it and think it fits in with story, I will do it or at least try. Even if it's a kink or just a simple headcanon. TELL. ME.  
> Also I try to avoid typos and grammar mistakes like the plague so don't be afraid to tell me if you see one, I will fix it.


	14. What The Water Gave Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is will be the last chapter from Cas' point of view.

**_Oh, my love, don’t forget me_ **

**_When I let the water take me_ **

 

“‘Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean: from all your filthiness, and from all your idols, will I cleanse you.’” Camael said calmly as he lifted Castiel’s head from the water by his neck for exactly three seconds before submerging him again.

He had placed Castiel on a chair with his arms bound behind his back to his ankles and made him kneel facing the back of the chair towards an at least two feet deep basin that sat on a wooden table. Castiel fought and thrashed, frantically trying to get at least his nose above the surface. But Camael kept him under with a firm grip and Castiel, in his desperation, lost his right mind and opened his mouth; even though he knew the consequence, he couldn’t stop the fight or flight part of his mind to see reason. Water filled his mouth at an alarming speed and his throat instinctively closed to prevent choking but still literally  _dying_  for air Castiel breathed in through his nose. It burned and felt foreign and wrong.

More water entered his mouth through his nostrils, filling it past capacity. Releasing the painful strain would either mean opening his mouth again or swallowing. But it was impossible to swallow without breathing and use his already scarce air.

Camael pulled Castiel out with little finesse. He, again, let Castiel only have the privilege (pleasure?) of dry air for a matter of the shortest seconds before immersing him. A month ago Castiel would have fought back the tears as he relished in the air filling his starving lungs but now, this broken version of himself didn’t bother to waste his time with thoughts of such trivial things as pride. He let the tears of joy fall from his eyes as he gorged himself on the once stagnant but now sweet air.

And that was it, wasn’t it? The art of the torture. It was not simply denying Castiel oxygen –that was nothing, if anything something easily survivable– what made this act torturous were the short infrequent bouts of air that the tortured would wait for, yearn for, and if, need be, beg for. These periods giving the tortured pleasure for an instant before the torturer decided to rip it away only to start the vicious cycle all over again.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Until finally one of those tedious steps would be replaced and all the others beyond it would cease.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.

Pain–


	15. Hate To See Your Heart Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and the boys find Castiel.

**_There is not a single word in the whole world_ **

**_That could describe the hurt_ **

**_The dullest knife just sawing back and forth_ **

**_And ripping through the softest skin there ever was_ **

**_How were you to know?_ **

 

Dean let Crowley’s words settle over him like a warm blanket full of holes. Was it possible to feel hope and dread at the same time? It felt conflicting like a sweater that was two sizes too small. Dean clenched his hands around his empty glass.

“Where is he? Is he…?” Dean hoped his expression would convey the words his mouth refused to say.

“He’s at the abandoned warehouse and no,” Crowley answered resolutely as Dean sped past him and into the meant-to-be-abandoned weapons room. He watched with barely masked admiration, “he’s not dead. But we do need to hurry. How far exactly is it from here?”

Dean didn’t up from his already halfway full bag of supplies. “What the fuck does it matter? You can get us there faster than I can drive.”

“It matters because I can only teleport myself so if this place is far we’re going to need to leave  _now_.”

Dean stopped mid-pack. “ _What_? You didn’t feel the need to mention this before?” Dean resumed his packing at a much more efficient pace. He was slowly getting this feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was forgetting something. Dean began to pack the rest of his bag with one hand while the other looked for directions on his phone.

Crowley looked at the man as if he had grown another head. “It didn’t come up and, if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t think it would be this easy to find Castiel which makes me think that you and Sam going in and rescuing him is exactly what the wanker wants.”

Crowley’s words didn’t faze Dean in the slightest. “Doesn’t matter. We know where Cas is and we know how to kill what’s got him so that means we’re saving him.” Realizing what was missing, Dean cocked his head back and yelled. “Sam!”

A second later, they heard a door open. “Dean?” Sam’s voice called back.

Satisfied that they would be prepared, Dean zipped up the bag and slipped his phone to his back pocket in two quick practiced movements before heading to where his brother was. Sam was stepping out of their room as he took in Dean’s flushed face, bag, and determined gait with a few quick but confused scans of his eye. “Dean? What’s–?”

“We found him, Sam.” Dean told his brother. “I can fill you in when we get to the car.” Sam looked to Crowley for answers but the man helplessly shrugged and jerked his head toward his brother. Sam sighed and followed Dean.

Dean seemed to have started talking before either Sam or Crowley had fully entered the car. “…going through all the places that could’ve had a connection to us. But there was nothing, at least, not really. You weren’t there but Bobby and I had tried to summon Cas at this warehouse just outside of Pontiac.”

“Pontiac?” Sam pulled out his phone and started his GPS.

“Yeah.” Dean answered as he switched to the left lane. The night seemed to rush and blur around them

“And you know for sure he’s there?” Sam asked. The illogical part of his mind was ready to jump on the first lead like Dean was so inclined but the logical side nagged him for the assurance that they were headed in the right direction.

“Yes.” Crowley spoke up from the backseat. “I didn’t see him but I…I heard him.”

“Heard?” Sam asked, cranking the heat up. He started to look back when Crowley had taken awhile to answer. “Crowley?”

“I’ve tortured a lot of people and, as you know, seen people burn but Castiel’s screams…” Crowley shook his head. “I’ve never heard anything of the like. Ever. Whatever Camael has done to him; torture doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s torture and then there’s depravity.”

“How long to Pontiac, Sam?”

Sam glanced at the map on his phone. “About 9 hours.”

Dean pressed the pedal to the ground so hard that the Impala lurched in hesitation before picking up speed. “Let’s make it seven.”

~*~*~*~

About three hours in, while Dean was filling up the tank, he, Sam, and Crowley started to devise a plan. Make that plans. Even though they knew where Castiel was and who had him and how to kill him, it still left a lot of possibilities to the imagination. Camael was an archangel and his power, if anything like Michael’s or Lucifer’s, would be, to put it lightly, unparalleled. They knew what they were going up against and at the same time, didn’t. There wasn’t much at their disposal that could incapacitate or kill an angel which meant that their plans weren’t all that in depth.

They had a plan, a back-up plan, and several back-up plans to the back-up plan but anything beyond that was just ‘wing it and kill the fucker’.

They made it to Pontiac in just under eight hours but finding the right abandoned property was a different story. To make things faster, Dean and Sam waited in the well-lit parking lot of an ALDI’s while Crowley teleported with Sam’s phone and waited for it to ping his location so he could navigate back.

As he waited impatiently for the phone to pick up a signal or whatever the fuck the contraption was doing, Crowley noticed it was quiet…too quiet. Not a single chirp of a cricket or rustle of woodland animals or even wind carried in the area. Crowley looked around and saw that a few meters from where he was standing trees were indeed moving.

Crowley stepped further away from his already gracious distance of the warehouse. As soon as he did, the natural ambiance of the dense forest around him resumed as if God was pressing the unmute button on the world. “What the hell…?” Crowley took a step back to where he was before and the noise cut off almost instantaneously. Just to make sure, he did it a few more times. On and off. On and off.

He looked down at the phone again and it told him that he was only about thirty minutes from Sam and Dean. He teleported back and when he touched ground again, tossed the phone back to Sam. “We’re less than an hour out but you should know, the place, it’s…”

“It’s what? Spit it out, Crowley.” Dean rushed.

Crowley sneered at him. “I would if I knew what the fuck it was. When I went back, the area around the property was silent and I do mean  _dead_ silent, I couldn’t even hear the bloody wind.”

“Okay, so what do you think it means?” Sam asked in a placating voice.

“My best guess? The place is warded, as one would expect, but not like anything I’ve ever seen before; I don’t think the warding is meant to keep things out, I think it’s meant to keep things in.” Crowley fixed an imaginary ruffle on his jacket. “Which makes sense since it’s obvious the holy roller wants to lure you both.”

“You keep saying that like you know.” Dean said in accusation. “Why are you so sure Camael knows we’re coming?”

“Because he’s not a moron and I have been torturing and trapping people for centuries. Cas is not the only one who has sinned in his eyes, in fact, Camael has probably only been keeping him alive for this long in hopes that Castiel will repent which I am positive the dumbass will only do if you and Sam’s lives are in danger.” Crowley explained in a tense but uninterested voice.

“So what does this mean for us?” Sam asked. “Are you saying that if we go beyond the wards we won’t be able to leave?”

Crowley nodded his head. “Quite possibly. Which moots all of the plans ending in escape, i.e. all of them.”

“Then we torch the place.” Dean said simply.

“ _No_.” Sam said tersely. “We don’t.”

“Well, what do you suggest, Sam? The place is warded; we don’t have time to find and break every sigil.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How are we going to burn the place down if we can’t leave, Dean? Or were you planning to light the place up with Cas inside with no way to defend himself?”

Dean sighed. “Then I’m all out of ideas.”

Crowley stared in thought at a wet oil puddle at his feet. “I’m not.”

~*~*~*~

Sam looked at Dean as they walked with care to the warehouse. Crowley wasn’t exaggerating when he had said dead silent. Not a sound met the Winchester’s ears when they had passed over the invisible threshold of the wards. “You really think this plan will work?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder and flashed his brother on of his best devil-may-care grins as he tried to nonchalantly pick up his pace. “The craziest ones always do, don’t they?”

Sam wasn’t amused but said nothing. He made it to the door seconds before Dean and was making his way to open it when the door opened of its own accord. Sam and Dean gagged on the air as the overwhelming stench hit them. The smell was a horrifying mixture of the most rancid odors; mildew, blood, rotting flesh, burned flesh, urine, and vomit.

“Samuel. Dean. So glad you could join us. Please, have a seat.” A voice much too joyous to be real intoned. No sooner than Dean and Sam's eyes could adjust to the darkness were they both pulled into the building by an indiscernible force and the door shut behind them. Camael had them in two manifested chairs with barely a flick of his wrist.

And if Sam and Dean had had trouble stomaching the odor of the room then they were physically restraining themselves from becoming sick at sight of Castiel. The angel seemed to be strung up in some sick variation of crucifixion. His arms were tightly bound together at the wrists and arms, pulled tautly upward while his ankles were shackled to a heavy weight. Blood and sweat seemed to coat every inch of his body; blood was pulsing and flowing out of too many wounds to count –or see– and steadily dripping over the weight hanging from his feet and to the floor. Castiel looked as though he was screaming –if his open mouth and strained throat were anything to go by– but not a single sound left him.

“Unfortunately, I had to silence my brother for the timebeing, he was–.”

“You sick bastard.” Dean tried to lunge for Camael but invisible ropes held him to his chair.

Camael watched with pitying disinterest as Dean fought against his restraints. “For the life of me, what my brother saw in you that was so worthy of rebellion and betrayal, I will never know.”

“What do you want?” Sam finally spoke up in a calm, dead voice.

Camael let his attention lead him to Sam’s line of sight. He stood there for a moment before backhanding Sam across the face. The crack of the bone echoed off the walls like a gunshot. “Don’t you dare speak to me with that  _contemptible_  tongue, you abomination.” Camael’s face had collapsed from objective to an expression that Sam could only describe as abhorrent disgust. “You are the spawn of Azazel, demon by  _deliberate_ blood intake, Lucifer’s vessel, a  _soulless_  creature and you have the audacity to speak to me?”

A few years ago, Sam would have had nothing to say to that. He would have turned away from Camael in shame. But now he was tired of it; people bringing up his past to make him feel guilty for his decisions. “Oh, yeah, and you’re just perfect.” Sam snapped, ignoring the blood-tinged spit that dribbled out of his mouth. “Torturing Castiel who hasn’t done a damn thing to you and saying it’s for God, you’re just a pious sycophant with daddy issues.”

It was a risk. Sam knew that, he was banking on nothing more than Camael’s patience which judging from Castiel’s present state was next to nothing. Camael looked at him as if he wanted nothing more than to strike Sam again but instead he calmly turned to Castiel and waved his hand in a fluid motion. Castiel’s screams cut on like a sadistic record player’s needle had just gotten back on track.

Hearing his own screams again, Castiel struggled to silence himself but only managed to switch out the caustic screams for pitiful whimpers and ragged breaths. As he calmed, he caught sight of the two people he wanted to see least and most in the world.

“Sam…Dean…” Castiel forced the words out of his mouth slowly. “…Run.”

“Shut up, Cas. We ain't leaving you.” Dean kept his sharp look of contempt trained on Camael. “So what’s your endgame, asshole? Cas is never going to give you what you want–.”

“No, perhaps not,” Camael conceded, “but I have a feeling you will and when you do I will erase your memories of Castiel and make sure the next time Castiel is on Earth is will be long after both your bodies have turned to dust.” Camael’s eyes flicked back to Sam who looked strained.

“Sam?” Dean asked concernedly.

Sam started to blink repeatedly. “Dean, I can’t see.”

“And,” Camael said, eyes still locked on Sam. He touched the bridge of Sam’s nose, returning his sight. “…now, you can’t smell anything. You should thank me, I’m leaving you with nothing but your sense of sight which will make it that much more humane when I pull your still beating heart out of your chest with my bare hands.” He let his fingers brush against Sam’s mouth. “Taste. Who likes the flavor of their own blood and bile?”

“Guess you don’t want repentance from us that bad, because I can guarantee you if anything happens to me or Dean we’re not going to give you anything but an angel blade to the heart.” Sam argued, Dean and he both knew he was stalling. Camael tapped at Sam’s right ear.

Suddenly, Dean’s chest felt lighter and the tightening numbness began to leave to his arms and hands. Dean looked at Camael but he was still preoccupied with Sam. Dean risked the slight movement of leaning forward. His bounds were gone. Dean, without thinking, flicked his eyes up to Castiel’s hanging body, just in time to see Castiel’s head slump in exhaustion.

“Alright.” Dean called out, even to his own ears his voice sounded deep and furious.

 Camael slowly dropped his hand from its path to Sam’s neck and smiled. “Alright, what?”

“If you heal Cas, I’ll repent and Sam and I will leave quietly.” Sam was staring at Dean intently, struggling to find out what was being said. But lip-reading wasn’t something one picked up on a whim. He, of course recognized his name and Cas’ but that was all.

Camael narrowed his eyes and invaded Dean’s space. “What I am demanding are not just  _words_ , if you say them you  _will_  mean them. If you don’t, I will know. If you say them to my satisfaction, I will put you and Sam back in your home and will heal Cas and relocate him to Heaven. No praying to him, no summoning him, no communication, do you understand? I have cleansed him and I will not have you contaminating him again.” Camael leaned back and folded his arms, he tilted his head expectantly.

It was Dean’s turn to smirk. “No. You want me to say it, you have to make good on your side of the deal; give Sam his senses back and heal Cas.”

Camael stared blankly at the human for the span of many quickened heartbeats before waving a hand at Sam. Sam opened and closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side as started to hear and smell again. Once he got his bearings his gaze went straight to Dean. “Dean…what’s happening? What did you do?”

Dean did all but ignore his brother. “Now Cas.”

Camael sneered and in the next moment the weight was gone from Castiel’s legs and the ropes vanished from his arms. Gravity did its cruel job and ungracefully brought Castiel to the hard cement ground. Castiel screamed when his back hit the floor.

“Cas!” Sam shouted. He strained against his still present bindings for Camael. “You–.” With another hand motion both Castiel and Sam were silenced.

“You have wasted enough of my time and frankly my already worn patience has dissipated. Repeat after me:

_Have mercy upon me, O God,_

_According to Your loving kindness;_

_According to the multitude of Your tender mercies,_

_Blot out my transgressions._

_Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,_

_And cleanse me from my sin.”_

Dean clenched his jaw and readjusted himself in his seat. “Have mercy upon me, O God. According to your loving kindness. According to the multitude of your tender mercies. Blot out this asshole’s transgressions to save yourself the time of trying to wash me of my iniquity and cleansing me of my sin because frankly I’m a lost cause–.”

Camael let his True Voice out. Dean and Sam screamed as the deafening frequency forced its way into their eardrums making their ears drip blood. He flew closer to Dean, vanishing and appearing again. He put his hand around Dean’s throat, squeezing the air out of his windpipe. “Do not mock me, human. Do you believe that this is a game? That I am  _kidding_?” Camael squeezed even harder.

“Yeah,” Dean forced out. “I kinda do, because God is gone and he ain’t coming back.” Dean felt his angel blade slowly slip down his sleeve and into his hand. “NOW, CROWLEY.”

Crowley appeared next to Castiel, took him by his hand and disappeared once again. Camael’s eyes flashed with vehemence; he lifted Dean by his throat and flung him against the wall. Dean lost his grip on his angel blade as he bounced off the wall seconds before Crowley lit a ring of holy oil that surrounded the warehouse.

Camael was on Dean before he could clear his head. The angel took Dean by the front of his jacket with one hand and pushed him against the wall. “I may be without my grace but that does not mean I am weak. I can and I will rip your heart out as your abomination of a brother watches.” Dean called out agony as he felt his chest being slowly carved open with a blunt object. Camael smiled proudly as he felt the beginnings of Dean’s chest bone against his nails.

“Not likely.” A voice said. And with nothing but practiced skill, Sam slid an angel blade through Camael’s spine.

That was it.

No exploding brain matter. No final bloodcurdling scream. No profound last words. No resolute sound of a severed head hitting the floor. Just a short moment of blinding purified grace leaving some poor fuck’s vessel followed by silence.

Dean legs buckled but Sam was right there, steadying him. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist and helped him up. The heat from the ring of Holy Fire was seeping through the worn wooden walls, making sweat bead on both Sam and Dean’s skin. “Dean, you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. How did you–?” Dean nodded and pressed a hand to his chest to sooth the gradually ebbing ache as he and Sam stumbled out of the warehouse.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “I should be asking you that.”

“Cas. Don’t know how but he did.” The mention of Cas seemed to remind both of the brothers of their purpose. “Cas!” Dean called over the sound of the Holy Fire. No answer. “Crowley!” Nothing but the sounds of the night forest replied. Sam braced his arm around Dean and rushed through the circle of flames.

Just as they had hoped wasn’t true, Crowley and Cas were nowhere to be found. Dean and Sam shouted for Cas and Crowley again as they began to traipse through the woods. “Shit. I can’t see a damn thing. Can you?” Dean asked, cursing himself for not thinking of bringing a flashlight. Dean heard the movement of Sam shaking his head. Dean knelt to the ground and touched the dirt. It was dry. He felt around some more, hoping for a dead tree branch and got lucky. He took out his lighter and lit the tip.

The orange flames illuminated the about two feet of the area around them. Dean tilted the torch downward looking for unfamiliar footprints or any other signs of human life. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that son of a bitch.” Dean muttered, turning on his heel to head north. Sam grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Dean. I think I saw something.” Sam took the torch from Dean and slowly waved it. Something not the color of dirt or leaves occupied the base of a tree about a yard over. Sam led the way and nearly dropped the torchlight.

Castiel was sloppily propped up against the roots of the tree, arms limp at his side and his hand tilted at what looked like an uncomfortable level. Broken and bloody, were lazy words to describe the state of Castiel, but they would have to do. If it hadn't been for the ragged sporadic breaths Castiel was taking Dean and Sam would have thought he was dead.

“Jesus. Cas?” Dean muttered as he gently put his arms behind Cas' back and under his knees and lifted Castiel off the ground. He tried not to think about how light he was. Leaves and dirt clung to his still wet wounds and Dean slowed to let Sam pick them off with a pitying face. Castiel stirred and whimpered. “D’n? Whr’s S’m?” Castiel’s voice cracked like cold glass.

“Here, Cas. I’m here.” Sam leaned in so Cas didn’t have to strain to see. “We got you.”

Tears welled up in the angel’s already bloodshot eyes at the sound of Sam’s voice. They trailed down his face, seeping into the bloodied gashes on his face and emerging red-stained. “’m s’rry.” Saving Sam from coming up with something  _not enough_  to say, Castiel lost consciousness.

Dean gently leaned Cas against the car and tossed the keys to Sam. “You drive.” Sam was in the drivers’ seat with the car started before Dean could even properly situate Cas in the backseat. He ended up lying Cas on his stomach with his head in his lap.

“Home or hospital?” Sam asked, though he already knew the answer.

Dean didn’t even hesitate. Rules be damned. “Hospital.” Sam nodded in agreement but moments later, cursed quietly at his phone. Dean looked up. “What?”

Sam threw his phone on the passenger seat and pulled off. “The nearest hospital is practically an hour away.” Thankfully it was late, or early, enough that practically no cars were on the road. Sam ignored every sign that bothered to warn him of the speeds.

“Hey, how’s he doing?” Sam asked, pushing the Impala to eighty once he hit the highway.

“Not good. He’s having trouble breathing.” Dean focused back on Cas, stopping a bloodied tear in its tracks. “Jesus, Cas. What did he do to you?”

“Sam?”

Sam looked in the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”

“Floor it.”

Sam did as he was told.


	16. And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean deal with Cas' imminent death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so...I cried while writing this...and I hope you do, too! toodles!

**_Cause even when the flower dies something’s by its side_ **

**_A helping hand or a kiss goodbye, to ease it on its way_ **

 

“We need a doctor! Now!” Dean yelled, dramatically bursting through the automatic doors, Cas hanging limply in his arms and Sam in his wake. But there wasn’t as much as a blink of an eye. Dean swore as Sam headed to the window where a woman was just about to take her post.

“Ma’am, my–I mean, our friend, he–” There was no hiding what had been done to Castiel with some half-assed cover story. He couldn’t have gotten hit by a car or have fallen, there was no choice but to go with the truth. “.…he was taken…and–. He needs help, please.”

The short woman peered around Sam’s large frame to Cas and Dean and stood. “Alright, I’ll get some–.”

“Wait. There’s something else.” Sam glanced back to Dean who had fear, impatience, anger, and worry streaked across his face like smeared war paint. “We need it to be off the books. We’ll pay but…no police or records.”

The woman squared her shoulders and turned to the male nurse getting ready to leave. “Greg, take over my post.”

“But you just came from–.”

“ _Haz lo que digo, pendejo._ ” The woman snapped in a voice that barred no argument. True to her tone, Greg grumbled to himself as he got comfortable again. The nurse gestured for them to follow her. She led them to an old freight elevator a ways from the regular elevators and pressed the up button.

“We can’t risk a doctor boarding and asking questions.” She answered Sam and Dean silent confusion. It came quickly but not quickly enough Dean boarded first as if doing so would get Cas help faster. The elevator ride was awkwardly and tensely silent but thankfully short. The nurse looked down both directions of the hallway before deciding on left. She hurriedly led them to an empty room and nodded toward the bed as she shut the door. “Lay him there and strip him.”

Dean gently set Castiel on the bed and worked in gentle but efficient tandem with Sam to rid him of the blanket Dean had found in the back of his trunk. The nurse took in a sharp breath when she returned from the sink. “ _Santo cielo._ ”

“Can you help him or not, lady?” Dean snapped.

She raised her eyebrows in scolding disbelief. “I could lose my job just for letting you in here. So how about some respect?”

Dean clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry…just help him. Please.”

She softened and smiled ruefully. She retrieved three sterile sponges from a drawer and some rubbing alcohol. “Help me clean him off first so I can see what I’m dealing with.” Sam took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. It was hard to tell whether or not Castiel looked better before or after they cleaned him. Sure, all the blood, sweat, and other unnamable substances were gone but what they had covered was now plain to see. Bruises colors of yellow, green, blue, purple and black covered Castiel’s body like smudged ink clouds. Gashes ranging in length from one to six inches, some deeper than others. What scared Sam the most was that all the places that were unscathed –his feet, ears, and calves– caused Castiel to whimper in pain when touched.

The nurse waited patiently for Sam to finish. “Okay. Can you open his legs for me? He’s holding them at an unnatural angle.” She deftly pulled on second pair of latex gloves.

Dean and Sam nodded. They both cringed at the sound of wet flesh pulling apart. “Hold him down.”  She warned. She softly pressed a medical cloth doused with alcohol to Castiel’s inner thighs. Castiel whined and tried to close his legs, getting more and more distressed when Sam and Dean tighten their holds. The nurse sympathetically shushed Castiel, “ _Esta bien, cariño. Tu vas estar bien.”_  When she finished, she covered the wounds with some odorless cream with a name Dean didn’t even try to pronounce and loosely dressed them with practiced care. Without a word, the nurse replaced the soiled gloves with a new pair and resumed her examination.

“We don’t even know your name.” Sam stated as she checked for broken ribs. Sam really started to look at her for the first time. She was short –at most five foot– and had brown hair that was pulled tightly back into a bun, exposing her graying roots. Her un-made-up face was lined but had to have been from stress and the job instead of age, the woman was in her mid-fifties if a day. It was obvious from the way the woman carried herself she had seen a lot and was fully prepared to see more.

She looked up to Sam and smiled in a way that reminded him of Ellen. “Elba.”

“I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean and that’s…” Sam swallowed. “That’s Cas.”

Elba nodded like Sam had just confirmed something she had known all along. “Good strong names for good strong men.”

Dean scoffed. “Not good enough to save him.”

Elba stopped her exam to look over at Dean. “Last time I checked, which was pretty damn recent, Cas is still alive. In my field we consider that a win.” Dean doesn’t say anything. “His ribs don’t feel broken but they could be cracked; his breathing still sounds labored. Can you tell me what happened to him?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, shaking their heads in shame. “No.” Sam said quietly. “We weren’t…there when it–.”

Elba nodded as if his answer had been nothing less than what she was expecting. “It’s alright,  _mijo_. I’m sure you  _both_  did what you could.” She turned her attention back to Castiel. “Help him sit up; maybe that will help his breathing.” Elba unwrapped her stethoscope from around her neck while Dean and Sam took each of Cas’ emaciated shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. The scream Castiel released chilled every person in the room’s bones.

What Sam and Dean had both assumed was just Castiel’s bloody back was actually the pink of flayed flesh. Elba pushed Dean out of the way and flipped Castiel over onto his stomach. “ _Mierda._ ” She frantically pushed a call button and within seconds a flurry of nurses entered.

Sam and Dean tried to move out of their way but every time they moved out the way of one they obstructed the way of another. “What’s happening? What’s wrong with him?” Dean’s voice wasn’t particularly loud but demanded pause from the nurses.

Elba looked at him sympathetically, “Banks, get them out.” A tall black man with glasses stood close enough to Dean to convey the message: ‘ _Leave or I’ll make you leave.’_ Dean flared his nostrils and pulled a dazed Sam by his coat sleeve.

This hospital was pretty damn big, bigger than all the ones Sam and Dean had seen and they had seen more than their share. It took them awhile to find a waiting area that was empty. Dean sat down in a chair facing a window that looked out the vast parking lot, they had to be at least five floors up.

“Dean…”

Dean tensed at the unexpected sound of his brother’s voice. “Yeah, Sammy?”

“Why isn’t he healing?” Even in the dead silence of the room, Dean had to strain to hear him.

“I don’t know, Sam. Maybe he is but it’s just…slower.”

“If he–.”

“He’s not.”

“But–.”

“ _Sam_.” Dean snapped. “We’re not talking about this. Not now, not ever.”

Sam let out a broken laugh. “This is our Winchester luck cashing in, isn’t it?” Dean said nothing. “Every time one of us has tried to settle down shit blows up in our faces. I thought that we were finally getting peace because we deserved it. After all we have done for the world, we  _deserved_  peace. Having the same place to call home, hunting because we  _want_  to not  _have_  to, forgetting to get milk from the grocery store,  _fuck_ , even getting the flu. We deserve those things, Dean. And we were so close, I could taste it, see it, even. You, me, and Cas living out the rest of whatever time we had left in  _peace._  But I was so  _stupid_ ,” Sam spat out the word like it was a disease. “I  _knew_  something was wrong when he didn’t answer our prayers the first time but I told myself that waiting for it, waiting for Cas, was the small price we were paying for our future.” Sam snorted and muttered. ‘ _Small price_.’

“And who says we still can’t have it?” Dean spoke up.

Sam shook his head. He knew the answer, but he saw the thin string holding everything in Dean together and knew his words wouldn’t do anything. The sound of footsteps caused them both to look up. Dean scowled at the nurse but Sam widened his eyes in fear and worry. “Is he…?”

“No.” Elba sat in a chair across from the men.

“Can we see him?” Dean asked.

Elba stared at him. “Yes. But not before I talk to you.”

“Look, lady–.”

“ _Para_. Because whatever rude shit that was about to come out of your mouth was only going to make me angry. My name is not ‘lady’ so don’t call me that. I have a name; you know it, use it.” She arched her eyebrows, daring Dean to talk back. He didn’t. “You’re hunters, aren’t you?” Sam looked at Dean for answers but Dean shrugged and gave Sam a 'go along' gesture. Sam micro-smiled and nodded. “Cas is a hunter as well?”

Sam shook his head as Dean said, “Yeah.”

Elba smirked. “You don’t trust me. I understand, but if I had wanted to kill you or Cas, I have had ample opportunity.” Elba let her eyes glow purple. “And I could have easily made it look like an accident.”

Dean’s hand immediately went for his gun. “What are you?” He asked, his eyes not wavering from the woman.

Elba shrugged laconically. “There are many names for what I am. Bruja, hechicera, dayana, ved’ma…” She scrutinized their blank expressions, she looked smug. “…Witch?”

Dean had his gun out in the next second, pointed directly at Elba’s heart. Her face gave away nothing but arrogant disinterest. Sam widened his eyes at his brother. “Dean! You can’t just shoot someone in a hospital.”

“Watch me.”

Sam stepped in between Elba and Dean, his bitchface on to the extreme. “Dean, she hasn’t done anything wrong, in fact, she’s helped us. So if that where your head’s at now; publicly shooting people who  _help_  us, you need to take a walk.” Dean’s eye twitched. “Those are your options, Dean. Walk or put the gun away, because I’m not letting you shoot her.”

Dean waited a full half-minute before sliding his gun into the back of his jeans. “He’s not a hunter. He’s an angel.”

The woman continued to look unimpressed. “Not anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

Elba dipped her head in concession. “I spoke too soon. Not for much longer. And once he is fully human…” She shook her head. “Whoever was hurting him cut off access to his Grace. Cas doesn’t have enough to remain conscious let alone heal.” Elba closed her eyes. “He had absolutely no skin on his back, with open flesh like that it is not surprising it got infected. We tried skin grafts but his body is rejecting them. The seizures he’s developed, most likely from oxygen deprivation from his lungs collapsing, are doing nothing to help his broken bones and his eyes…” She trailed off.

“What?” Sam’s voice sounded hoarse as if he’d been yelling.

Elba looked up and tilted her head to the side in pity. “Cas is blind. His eyelids have appeared to develop necrotizing fasciitis.” She internally scolded herself. She needed to remember not everyone was a doctor. “It’s a flesh eating disease and right now it’s eating at his eyes. We tried giving him antibiotics to slow it down but he’s rejected that as well. Even if Cas was fully human, he should have started healing by now. I don’t know what his Grace is doing but as for now it just seems to be keeping him alive.”

“Just say it.” Dean snapped. “We know it’s coming so just  _say it_.”

Elba heaved a world-heavy sigh. “Cas is dying and if I were you I would keep him company; ease his path.”

 _‘Ease his path.’_  Dean mouthed mirthlessly and turned his face upward. “No. We’re not going to  _ease his path_ , because he’s not dying.”

“But he is,” Elba’s voice was stern but kind, “and I would suggest that you get used to the idea.” She continued before Dean had the chance to speak. “We had to medically sedate him but you can see him now. I’ll make sure none of the nurses bother you.” And with that Elba walked away.

~*~*~*~

Dean, who was walking with determined purpose, reached the room minutes before Sam who was fearfully dragging his feet. Sam wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he saw Castiel but what he did see hardened his heart to a cold stone that sunk to the pit of his stomach.

Castiel was still just as bruised and cut up as before but now all his open wounds including his eyes were covered by sterile white bandages which somehow made him look worse; less Cas and more patient. His hands and feet were wrapped tightly up to his wrists and ankles as well but the most unsettling thing about Cas was the thick clear tube trailing from his mouth to a deafening ventilator, breathing for him.

Dean had already set up chairs on either side of Cas, of course taking the seat on the same side as the breathing machine. He had Cas’ bandaged hand in both of his.

Sam numbly fell into his chair and just stared. Everything he thought to do didn’t seem like  _enough_. Taking Cas’ hand, combing his hair back, putting a hand on his arm, touching his face, none of it was  _enough_. There wasn’t a guidebook on how to watch someone die –which made sense because there were no words that could describe the excruciating misery. Some malicious part of him thought that he and Dean had had it easy all those times they had been there to watch the other die. It was never slow or drawn out, it had always been painful but quick like ripping a serrated blade out of its wound. There had always been someone to blame and hunt or some curse to break or some soul-bargaining demon to negotiate with but Cas was dying in the worst possible way;  _humanly_. Slow, festering, and predictable.

“I’m sorry.”

Something in Sam’s tone had Dean looking up. “What?”

“That was the last thing he said. He  _apologized_.” Sam finally took Cas’ hand in his (he would make it enough). It was limp and just a few noticeable degrees away from healthy; Sam squeezed as tight as he dared. “Like it was his fault that he was taken, that we couldn’t get there in time.”

Dean curled his upper lip. “Sam, listen to me. It ain’t no one’s fault but that asshole excuse for an angel. You got me?” Sam didn’t answer; stricken gaze still trained on Cas. “ _Sam._ ”

Sam blinked. “Yeah, I got you.”

Just then a female nurse entered with two neatly folded sets of blankets and pillows, she ignored them completely as she set the covers down on the windowsill and walked out closing the door behind her.

Dean waited exactly five minutes before getting up and grabbing the sheets. He carelessly dropped one on his chair and he walked over to Sam’s side with the other. Without a word, Dean slid his brother’s arms out of his sweater and gently pulled it over his head, leaving him in his undershirt.

They both knew that Sam was fully capable of getting comfortable himself but both of them also knew that Dean was doing this for his own benefit as well as Sam’s. Taking care of Sammy was his default, his factory setting for when things went to hell. The simplest tasks for Sam kept Dean centered and sane and Sam was more than happy to let Dean take over. He was selfish enough to take comfort in it as well; not having to think about the mundane tasks was in turn what kept Sam down to earth.

Dean slid the pillow behind Sam’s back and threw the blanket over his shoulders. And if he scratched at that place behind Sam’s ear they didn’t mention it. He situated himself in his chair and took Cas’ hand in his again.

They both fought sleep for as long as possible.

~*~*~*~

Dean was the first to wake. While he was asleep, Sam had scooted his chair closer to Cas’ bed and thrown his arm over Cas’ lap, letting his fingers brush against Dean and Cas’ grasp. Not having the heart to wake him, Dean got up as quietly as possible and retrieved his wallet out of his jacket pocket. As cold as it was in the hospital, he couldn’t have Sam thinking he had left if he had decided to wake up before he got back.

Dean slipped out the room and followed the signs down to the cafeteria. It was full of windows, letting Dean know that it had to have been at least midday. He ordered two large black coffees but filled a styrofoam bowl with packets of cream and sugar for Sam and grabbed two of each breakfast pastry on display and paid without anything more than the standard cursory smiles and eye contact.

When he got back to the room, Sam had let his blanket fall to the floor and was now holding Cas’ hand in both of his, pressing them to his forehead. Dean cleared his throat. “I got you breakfast.” He held out the still steaming coffee and a pastry to Sam, who ignored both.

“Not hungry.”

“Maybe not, but you should eat.”

“Or what? I’ll get sick and die?”

Dean froze for a microsecond before throwing on a devil-may-care smile. “Wow. And I thought I was the asshole.” Sam gave him a bitchface but reached for the coffee only to have Dean pull it away at the last second. He tried again, Dean pulled the cup farther.

“Dean.”

“What?” And Dean really should have become an actor, there was no trace of a smile on his face. “Do you want the coffee or not, Sammy?”

Sam sighed and made a grab for the cup again, this time successful but along with the coffee Sam got a mouthful of Dean. It was a quick kiss but nothing about it was chaste. Dean pulled away and let his lips rest against Sam’s so he could hear and feel what he was going to say. “He’s going to be okay, Sammy. I promise.”

And Sam knew better than anyone that once Dean made a promise he kept it. Come hell or high water, he kept it.

But the next week passed by with no change. Actually, that was a lie. There were changes but none of them for the better. Cas’ seizures changed from once every other day to two or three every couple of hours. After the fifth one the doctors decided to give him a tracheotomy and put him in a medically induced coma, which meant that nurses came in every two hours to move Cas so he didn’t develop bedsores. A routine that lasted for about two uncomfortable days until Elba spout some bullshit to the doctor about Sam and Dean being unemployed nurses and taught them how to do it.

It was after the last nurse on call came in to replenish Cas’ feeding tube and left that Cas’ left hand fluttered. Sam’s head shot up. “ _Dean_. _”_

Dean looked up from his post at the window. “What is it?”

“It’s Cas…I think he’s awake.” Sam whispered reverently.

Dean was at his side in a second. “What? How do you know?”

“I felt his hand move. Here.” Sam took Dean’s hand and put it in Cas’. Sure enough, Cas’ fingers spasm again.

Dean widened his eyes. “Cas? You awake? Can you hear us? Tap once for yes, two for no.”

“How is he going to tap no for being awake, Dean?”

Dean looked at his brother like he was dumb. “If he does it more than once than we know that this is fluke and he’s just having a muscle spasm.”

“It wasn’t a muscle spasm.”

Cas tapped once.

“No. It wasn’t.” Dean watched Sam go over to his side and take Cas’ other hand. “You’re okay, Cas. You’re in the hospital.”

Cas tapped twice. He must have done it on the other side too because Sam shared his look of confusion. “No what, Cas?”

Instead of tapping Cas’ fingers began to move slow measured movements. Letters. F-A-U-L-T.

“Okay, Cas.” Sam answered softly. “Not our fault, but it’s not yours either. You know that, right?”

One tap. Suddenly, Cas’ grip tightened and sweat started to bead on his pallid skin.

“Cas? Are you alright? Are you hurting?” Dean was already looking around for that damn call button.

Two taps. One tap.

“Shit.” Sam cursed. “The pain meds must be wearing off. You’re going to be okay, Cas. They’ll give you something for the pain.”

Dean was about to just let go and yell for a nurse when Cas’ hand tightened again and tapped twice. “What is it, Cas?”

The letters started again. N-O M-O-R-E E-N-D.

Sam looked at Dean to see if he had felt the same. “No more end? What’s he talking about?”

Dean shook his head, his face grim and back straight. “He didn’t say no more end. He said: No more. End.” Dean sighed at Sam’s blank face. “He’s telling us he wants us to end it for him, Sam.”

“What?” Sam chanced a glance at Cas. “No, he wouldn’t–.”

“He would and he did.”

“Dean…” Sam warned.

Dean cut him off with a sharp look at Cas. “Cas, do you want us to pull the plug on you?”

“Dean!” Sam yelled. “What the hell is your–?” Sam stopped when he felt the distinct repeated but  _separate_ single taps. Sam opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Dean’s nostrils flared and his eyebrows raised to his hairline. “There you go.”

“No, he’s confused.” Sam stubbornly shook his head. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“He’s not; he knows exactly what he’s saying, Sam.”

P-A-I-N. G-R-A-C-E.

“Your Grace is hurting you?” Sam asked, warily meeting Dean’s eyes, he was obviously thinking the same as him. They wanted Cas but they would be no better than Camael if they kept Cas alive if all he would feel was pain. It was beyond selfish, it was cruel.

One tap before Cas’ hands went slack with exhaustion.

“Cas?”

 No taps.

Sam was out of the room in the next moment, finding the bathroom with ease. He burst into the room, surprising a man who was washing his hands. Dean made a face that he reserved for only the most monstrous baddies. “Get out.” The man wasted no time leaving, not even stopping to dry his hands. Dean locked the door behind him.

Sam braced himself on the sink, his knuckles going as white as the porcelain. He was shaking his head but it was obvious his resolve was breaking. “We can’t–.”

“ _We’re_  not going to do anything. Take a walk, Sam.”

“Dean–.” Dean said nothing and Sam knew that he wasn’t going to change his mind but what Sam needed Dean to understand was–. “Cas is not just _yours_ , Dean. You can’t just take him away and expect me to not be here, I–.” Sam choked. “I love him too.”

And just like that Sam’s resolve broke.

Tears stung at his eyes like bee stings and his features collapsed into a painful anguished expression and his body hunched over. “I love him too.” Sam’s breath hitched just as his knees gave out from under him. Dean managed to catch him just before his head hit the rim of the sink, he eased both of them to their knees. “I love him, Dean.”

“I know you do, Sammy. Me too.”

That seemed to hurt Sam even more. “He can’t just  _go_ , Dean. He’s an  _angel_ , he was supposed to be the last to go.” And like clockwork, Sam moved on to the next stage of grief. Suddenly, Dean felt Sam pushing him and hitting his chest. “You promised. You promised he was going to be okay.”

Dean let Sam hit him –he deserved worse for making a promise he couldn’t keep– the physical pain briefly took his mind off the grief clawing through his chest like icy hooks. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry. I thought–.” It didn’t matter what he had thought. Hope was a vicious thing and Dean should have known that his hope was no different. He let his naïve denial make him believe that Cas was going to miraculously get better and worse he made Sam believe; had made Sam take part in his asinine hope. Which hurt because Dean knew that, however unintentionally, he had manipulated his brother. Had Dean been a civilian trying to get by on what was no more than false hope, Sam would have given his tough love speech and that would have been the end of it. But Sam hadn’t said a word and swallowed the hope-flavored poison that Dean had fed him with no questions asked because Dean was his brother and would never lead him astray.

And what a crock of shit that was.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

And with those words Sam let grief slump his body like a dead weight against Dean’s chest. Dean felt Sam’s arms slowly make their way around his neck, tightening to just this side of uncomfortable. Sam bit his lip to stifle his sobs when Dean rucked up his shirt and slowly began to run his knuckles up and down his back. It wasn’t sensual, it was  _sensory_. Dean’s movements took Sam away from the present and dropped him off in the past when Dean wasn’t just his older brother but his  _big_ brother who could silence the monsters under his bed with a single touch. Sure, Sam and Dean were older now, but the only thing that had really changed were the shapes of the monsters that plagued them. Wendigo, werewolf, djinn, vampire, demon, both Sam and Dean could handle those no problem, but the faceless ones –helplessness, loneliness, misery– those were the ones that had them cowering in their corners and licking their wounds.

Dean held Sam and Sam held Dean until Sam’s grip went loose with sleep. Dean tipped Sam backward into his arms without so much as a grunt of exertion. It had been awhile since Dean had done this; taking on the physical part of being the big brother. But as the omniscient they said, it was like riding a bike. Sam’s knees fit snugly in the dip of Dean’s arm and his shoulder bones slotted like puzzle pieces over the forearm that cradled his back. “Come on, Sammy.” Dean muttered, walking with not a single waver in his step back to Cas’ room.

Dean considered separating him and Sam but he would have been lying if he told himself that Sam’s arms were keeping him anchored just as much as his were. So instead he chose Cas’ left so that he could see the door and eased him and Sam to the floor just as they were against the wall and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Où est Crowley?


	17. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...I would say i'm sorry...but I'm really, really not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got called Satan for my last chapter (don't worry, I took it as a compliment) so I am really curious what some of you guys are gonna come up with after your read this.

**_I open my eyes_ **

**_I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light_ **

**_I can't remember how_ **

**_I can't remember why_ **

**_I'm lying here tonight_ **

 

Sam woke up with aching eyes and a crick in his back. He lifted his head with a jerk when he realized that he was back in Cas’ room. He didn’t remember walking back…Sam looked behind him to see his brother, he blushed as he saw where he was sitting. Thirty years old and he still kept his brother close like a  child would their teddy bear. Sam avoided looking at Cas at all costs as he got up and covered Dean with a blanket. It was still dark outside.

He went to the connecting bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He cupped the cool water in his hands and dripped it over his hair and neck. A full-body shiver ran from his neck down to his toes but Sam welcomed the wake-up call. What he didn’t welcome was his cell shrilly ringing and echoing in the small bathroom. Sam didn’t bother looking at the caller ID, only so many people could be calling and Sam knew he would have no trouble telling them now just wasn’t good time.

“Hello?” Sam didn’t even recognize his own voice.

“Moose, I need you to come outside.”

Sam’s anger flared up like wildfire; quick and violent, but just as fast as it had appeared it dissipated. He was too exhausted both physically and emotionally to deal with anything that didn’t have to do with Cas or Dean. “What do you want, Crowley?”

“I want you to get your Yeti arse down to the parking lot.  _Now_.”

“Not until you tell me why. You obviously know where we are, just come up yourself.”

“I would if I could. The hospital is warded.”

“But you’re not a demon anymore.” Sam said. “At least that’s what you led us to believe.”

Crowley muttered something that sounded like: ‘ _Fucking Winchesters.’_  ”I am not a demon in that I don’t have the powers of a demon but I still have no soul and that is what this place is warded against, those who don’t have souls. Make sense? Flaming witches.”

Sam blinked and sent a silent thank you to Elba. “You never answered my question. What do you want? If it’s not about Castiel then I don’t care.”

“But it is and if you don’t hurry the fuck on  _Cas will die_.”

Sam recoiled from the words as if they had been laced with acid. “Where are you?” Sam asked slipping out of the room and down the hall towards the elevators.

“Standing right next to your car.”

The moment the elevator doors opened in the lobby, Sam broke out in a jog to the parking lot, forcing himself to remember where he had left the Impala. “Crowley?” Sam stage-whispered in the still of the muggy parking lot.

“Over here. Jesus, did you stop for fucking roses?”

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood. “You are the last one to talk with the way you left Cas, anything could have happened to him, you were supposed to take him to the closest hospital.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “I swear to God, when you Winchesters have your teeth in a lead you only half-fucking listen. I told you that I could only carry  _one_  person. Me. I can’t teleport the way I used to, I use spells now, not demon magic. I wore myself out teleporting Castiel and I  _tried_  to get to the hospital but the spell broke down. When a spell says something you fucking do it, I didn’t so I got fucked over. I was drained, I needed to get my energy back.”

“And you couldn’t call and tell us that?”

Crowley fake-pouted. “Oh, I’m so sorry that I didn’t check in with Mummy before going over to my friend Ringo’s house. Was Mummy worried?” Crowley scowled. “No, I didn’t call. Instead I regained my energy only to burn it out again teleporting all over this fucking piss-pot of a world to get ingredients for a spell to save your bloody angel. Is that good enough for you? Have I met my quota of self-sacrificing acts?”

Sam was speechless.

“Good. Here.” Crowley thrust a heavy wooden bowl into Sam’s hands. It was full of different vials and a small slip of paper with neatly-written out instructions and an incantation. “Now, listen. Are you listening?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good, because I don’t want to be hunted down like a damn dog if the bloody thing doesn’t work exactly the way you want it to. What I just gave you is  _not_  a healing spell. There is no such thing. This is a restoration spell. It will restore things to the way they were once before. Spells are tricky things and there is no way to tell what exactly it will restore in Cas. Before can mean anything. It could restore him to how he was before Camael or it could restore him to how he was ten fucking minutes ago, before you ask I don’t know; I’ve never used this spell before. Got it?”

Sam nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Follow every single instruction and pronounce every single syllable correctly and Cas should get better.” Crowley lifted his hand up to snap his fingers before stopping. “Camael. He’s dead, right?”

More nodding. “Yes.”

“Did he suffer?”

Sam shrugged. “I shoved an angel blade through the top of his spine.”

Crowley smirked. “Good.” And with that Crowley was gone.

Sam didn't think he could get back to the room fast enough. “Dean.”

Dean stirred but mumbled something unintelligible. Sam huffed. “ _Dean. Get up_.” Dean must have subconsciously registered the panic in Sam's voice because his head shot up.

“S'mmy?” Dean blinked around the room owlishly.

“Dean, I got a way to fix Cas.”

To Sam’s surprise his information didn’t grasp Dean’s attention because he leant forward in his seat and wiped tiredly at his eyes. “Sam, we went to sleep less than six hours ago, how in the hell did find a way to heal Cas?”

Sam thought of coming up with a quick white lie but thought better of it. Lying only went so far with them until it blew up in their faces. “Crowley.” He muttered. Sam didn't have to look up to see his brother's face collapse in disgust.

“How?” Dean asked but continued before Sam could answer. “I know you couldn't have seen him because he would have been in the ground before he could have given you some bullshit remedy for saving Cas.”

Sam didn't bother justifying Dean's shoot-first-ask-questions-later assumption with a real answer. “And what if it's not bullshit?”

Dean scoffed, “Yeah. It could be some scheme to kill him.”

Sam pointedly looked to the side. “Which you were planning to do anyway so I am failing to see what we have to lose.” Dean was lost for words. “Dean.” Sam pleaded. “For once we have  _nothing_  to lose. Can we please just try?”

Dean tongued at the inside of his cheek and scrutinized Sam. “Fine. Show me what you got.”

Sam nodded determinedly and set the items down on the table. He handed Dean the paper with the instructions and incantation. Dean squinted at the words. “What is this? French? We’re doing a French spell?”

Sam fought not to roll his eyes as he began to uncap and empty the vials of God only knew what into the bowl. “No. It’s Creole and we both know how Haitians are with their voodoo and hoodoo.” Sam’s speed was the perfect balance of paced and rushed as he followed the instructions he had memorized on the way back to the room.

Dean locked the door and stood guard in front of it with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Skepticism and hope fought for the prime real estate of his features but his face collapsed into stoic and unreadable when he opened his mouth. “Go ahead.”

What Sam had managed to memorize the instructions for the concoction he had failed to recall the spell. Thank God he chose French as an elective at Stanford; pronunciation was key to this being successful. Sam cleared his throat and stuck his hand out palm flat over the bowl. He took one final deep breath before he started to recite the spell. “ _Nou tounen vin jwenn Eleman yo pou èd nan moman sa a nan feblès ak tan nan bezwen. Kondwi soti tout enfimite ak maladi nan kò sa a. Retounen sa a feblès fòs. Soufri tounen nan pitye. Lapenn nan kè kontan, ak Doulè konfò. **Renmèt**.”_  Sam made to put emphasis on the final word, hoping that if nothing else, that demand would be heeded.

As soon as the final word left Sam’s mouth, a bright light, not unlike an angel’s grace began to emit from the bowl and shroud the entire room, blinding the men. “Sam?” Dean called over the gradually ascending sound of wind. Just when they thought it couldn’t get any louder or brighter they were painfully proved wrong.

Sam fell to his knees just as his brother did, both of their hands clamped over their ears and their eyes shut tight against the onslaught to their senses. Dean and Sam’s eyelids ached from the brightness that managed to leak through and their eardrums felt as though they were attempting to crawl out of their skull.

But strangely enough, nothing else around them was changing. The walls and ceiling weren’t shaking or collapsing. The blinds, curtains, and machines weren’t being swayed by the wind. Everything that they were experiencing was only being seen and heard, it was a guarantee that everyone outside of the room was going on about their lives as if nothing was happening.

Suddenly, with no warning, everything stopped. The arresting light vanished along with the thunderous noise, leaving nothing in their wake. Dark blotches floated through Sam and Dean’s vision as their ears rung painfully at the newly returned silence.

“ _Fuck_.” Dean breathed as he waited for his sight to return and his head to stop throbbing. Sam groaned and tapped at his left ear twice, checking for blood. “You alright?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “You?”

“Feel like I was ten feet from a fucking rocket launch.” Dean grabbed Sam’s unoccupied hand and used it to propel both of them up.

As soon as Sam was upright he was at Cas' bedside. “Cas?”

Castiel remained still and silent.

Dean sighed, swearing under his breath as he stepped forward on the opposite side of the bed. “Cas? Can you wake up for us?”

For five long heartbeats nothing happened. Cas didn't move, twitch, or stir. But just when Sam and Dean were about to give up, Castiel's fingers jerked. Dean and Sam immediately took Castiel's hands in their own. They watched with stunted breath as Castiel's hands moved again and his head twitched from side to side twice. “Cas?” Dean asked.

The angel made a dry painful noise and moved both hands from Sam and Dean's grasps and reached towards his face. Castiel started to choke on the breathing tube as his lungs began to work on their own again. Dean and Sam beat him to it; Sam slid the tube out Dean held Cas' head still.

Taking a chance, Dean gently peeled off the bandages covering Castiel's eyes. There was no trace of any damage; Castiel was completely healed from head to toe.

Castiel scrunched his eyes before blinking them repeatedly; getting rid of the discomfort. When he finally opened them, Sam and Dean felt the tell-tale stinging behind their eyes. Both had thought that the sharp cerulean blue that colored Castiel's irises had been lost forever.

Castiel looked around the hospital room before settling on Dean and Sam's expectant faces. He tried to swallow but his mouth felt like it was lined with cotton sandpaper. He opened his mouth to ask for water but found that his throat was just as dry. The angel looked around the room again and landed on the sink behind Dean. Sam and Dean followed his gaze.

“What is it, Cas?” Sam asked. Cas made another noise and scrunched his face again, still focused on the sink. Dean was the first to catch on and had a paper cup full of cold water in seconds. He helped Cas hold it to his lips and waited patiently for him to finish.

“Better?” Dean said as he tossed the cup into the trash.

Castiel didn't answer, just continued to stare at them with an unreadable gaze.

“Cas?” Sam urged. “You gotta talk to us. Tell us what–.”

Castiel's eyes widened slightly. “I-I am s-sorry. D-do I know you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I know. It took awhile for this chapter and may take awhile for the next one. I've just started college and am still getting my bearings but I promise I will be getting the chapters out as fast as I'm writing them (sometimes after I write the chapters, I sit on them for awhile to make sure it's where I want to take the story). Again, to all my readers, thank you so much for your comments, kudos, and patience.


	18. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another bad-ass original female character because the canon show ain't got enough (alive).

**_Show me that you’re human; you won’t break_ **

**_Like a thief in the light, you can’t hide from your shadow_ **

**_It’s the only thing you own_ **

**_And you don’t need to pretend that perfection is your friend_ **

**_Cause we’re all broken._ **

 

Sam forced himself to tamp down on the fear that had clamped around his chest like a vice. This wasn’t the first time that Cas had forgotten them and if the spell they had used worked the way it was supposed to then maybe this was just Emmanuel. “Cas?”

Castiel turned to him. “I am s-sorry. I-Is that m-my name?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It’s Castiel but we call you Cas.”

“Okay.” Castiel seemed to have wanted to continue but didn’t. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. “M-may I-I have some more water, please?” Sam would have bet the fucking farm that wasn’t what Castiel had intended to say. Sam was proved right after Dean filled another paper cup and handed it to the angel. Castiel waited until he finished off the cup to finally ask. “W-what a-are y-y-your n-names?”

“I’m Sam and that’s Dean. We–.”

Dean sharply cut Sam off. “Cas, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Castiel looked down at the stark white sheets, his face a clear window of concentration. It was a few moments before the concentration changed to a disturbing mixture of frustration, confusion, and fear. “I-I-I–nothing.” Castiel said. “I can’t remember anything.” Castiel must have sensed the disappointment that fell over Dean and Sam because he flinched and the words began spewing out of his mouth like a stunted geyser. “I-I’m s-sorry. I-I’ll t-try harder. I-I’ll r-r-remember. I-I-I s-swear.”

Sam and Dean risked a glance to each other. Sam was the first to speak. “Okay, Cas. Just relax. You don’t have to–. It’s not your fault that you don’t remember. If it’s alright with you, Cas, I’m going to ask you some questions. Is that okay?”

Castiel glanced at Dean but then nodded at Sam. “Y-yes, S-Sam.”

“Great. But it’s important for you to remember that if you answer any of the questions wrong nothing will happen. We won’t get angry, we’ll just tell you the right answer. Okay?”

“Y-y-yes, S-Sam.”

Sam looked around the room and grabbed an old coffee cup off the bedside table. “Cas, can you tell me what this is?”

Castiel frowned for a moment. “A cup?”

“Okay, good. If today is Tuesday what day will it be tomorrow?”

Castiel frowned again and thought for a moment longer. “Wednesday?”

“Good. That’s good. Can you count backwards from five, please?”

Castiel looked like a dear caught in the headlights for a long moment. “Five…four…tw–…three…two…one. Zero?” Sam decided to overlook Castiel’s slip up, because it easily could have been from just nerves. It was unnerving to see the angel so…anxious. Sure, they had seen him uncomfortable and even uncertain at times but Castiel’s eyes kept flitting around the room and when he happened to meet Dean or Sam’s eyes he looked away with breakneck speed as if he thought that he would be severely reprimanded if he were caught looking at them for too long.

“Perfect. Who is on the ten dollar bill?”

“O-on the w-what?”

Sam shook his head and took his money clip out of his pocket. “Do you know what this is?”

“Money?”

“Good. If you had to take a guess, where would you say you are now?”

“A room?” Castiel guessed.

“A room where?”

Castiel turned to the window. “A room in a tall building.”

“That is true. But you’re in a hospital.”

 Castiel tensed. “A-Am I sick? Is that w-why I c-cannot remember?”

“No.” Sam blurted but then winced. “I mean, yes. You were sick but now you’re better.” Sam lifted his hand to touch Cas' arm but Castiel flinched away from the movement. “Cas, are you sure you don't remember anything?”

Castiel nodded erratically as he began to pick at his eyelids. “Yes, Sam. Nothing.”

Memory or no, Cas was still a horrible liar. Dean finally spoke up again. “Cas, you–.”

Knowing where Dean was headed, Sam stood abruptly, regretting it the moment that Castiel flinched again. “Dean, can I talk to you for a second?”

Dean said nothing in reply but walked out of the room leaving the door hanging wide open. “We'll be right back, Cas.”

“Y-yes, S-Sam.”

Sam bit his lip to keep from telling Cas that there was no need to say his name at the end of every statement of agreement but Sam knew that in saying that he would only confuse Castiel even more so he let it go. For now.

Sam found Dean staring out the window of the waiting room they'd occupied several days ago. “Dean, you can't do that; you can't just call Cas out. He's different–.”

“Well, what should I do, Sam?” Dean muttered. “Ask him about the weather?”

Sam didn't bother rising to the bait. “I asked those questions to see how extensive his memory loss was. He knows the basics; days of the week, what numbers are but if we had asked anyone else where they were they would have said hospital; this looks like a hospital and true, most people don't pay enough attention to know that Hamilton is on the ten dollar bill but Cas didn't even say 'I don't know' or 'a president' he knows what money is maybe even what it's used for but not current knowledge on it. It’s like he’s just a blank slate.”

Dean was quick to voice his disagreement. “No, he’s not. I’m not saying he hasn’t lost his memory but he does remember something. Did you see him? He’s terrified.”

“Who wouldn’t be; waking up with no memory to two strangers bombarding you with questions?” Dean shook his head in skepticism and pity at Sam’s naivety. Both of them knew that Sam was grasping at straws; holding on to the hope that if anything Castiel had managed to forget everything concerning Camael.

Dean folded his arms. “Sam–.”

“You two must be talking about something pretty damn important if you can’t speak about it in the same room as a comatose patient.” Elba said as she walked up to the boys.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam as he said. “Shows what you know since Cas is awake.”

Elba was quiet for a heart-wrenching moment, only to narrow her eyes in skepticism. “What did you do?”

Sam widened his eyes but Dean’s poker face was strong enough for the both of them. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. What did you do?” Elba's eyes warped from brown to a rusty bloody color.

And with that Dean lost what was left of his calm. “Look, just because you helped Cas doesn’t mean you can stick your nose in our business. You’re not family, you’re not our friend, and you damn sure aren’t our fucking mom so save your disappointed scolding for someone who gives a shit.”

“Dean,” Sam warned, “that’s enough.”

Dean leaned into the witch’s face. “What we do or don’t do to help Cas is none of your fucking concern so how about instead of giving us some lecture you go and get the discharge papers.”

Elba looked from Dean to Sam slowly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Her question caught Sam off guard. “What?”

“Dean wouldn’t be this angry if whatever you did healed Cas perfectly so what’s wrong with him?”

Sam leaned against the closest wall, letting it bear all his weight. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “His memory…it’s gone.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Sam said just as Dean replied, “Not everything.”

Elba raised her brows. “For once I am inclined to believe Dean. Let me guess, you think Cas remembers what happened to him.” Dean nodded.

“How did you…?” Sam started.

The woman smiled slightly at Sam. “It’s the only logical reason you would be in denial.” Elba took a deep breath. “Now, I have a friend–.”

“We’re really not interested in anymore spells, lady.” Dean interjected.

The nurse looked skyward and muttered something in Spanish. “There is a reason God gave you one mouth and two ears, mijo.”

“There is no God.” Sam and Dean said in ominous unison.

Elba stared at the men for a long moment before speaking again. “As I was saying, I have a friend. She’s a psychologist, if you would like I can give her a call and she can assess Cas. She may not specialize in memory but I’m sure she knows more about the human mind than we do.”

Sam looked at Dean, silently begging him with his eyes. As usual, Dean broke down in a matter of seconds. “Is your friend a witch, too?”

“No.” Elba shook her head, before she started to walk away. She knew that was as much of a yes as she was going to get. “She’s a demon.”

~*~*~*~

“Cas, would you feel comfortable leaving the hospital?” Sam asked as gently and objectively as possible. He had noticed that if he or Dean had showed a preference or hope for a certain answer Cas tended to always give them that answer no matter what it was. 

Cas clenched the sheets at his hip. “W-where w-w-would I-I-I g-go?”

“Home. We would go home.” Sam replied, putting as much emphasis as possible on the plural pronoun. “But only if you feel up to it. We'll stay here as long as you need.”

Although he never spoke directly to Dean, Cas always looked to him before and as he answered, gauging his reaction. Thankfully, Dean had noticed and learned to keep his face blatantly blank. Cas swallowed. “I-I th-think I would like to see o-o-our home.”

And that was that. Dean and Sam had Cas dressed and ready within the hour. For clothes, Dean had run to a nearby Walmart and picked out fleece sweatpants and the warmest hoodie he could find. Aside from the cool autumn weather ever since Cas had woken up he seemed to be in a perpetual state of cold; constantly shivering and having goosebumps sprout on his skin.

It turned out that Elba's friend was stationed in Missouri and actually preferred to meet with Cas after he had taken a week to reacquaint himself with his home base. She said being somewhere familiar may jog something in Cas' memory. 

It didn't. 

But it wasn't a complete let down. Cas was fascinated by the Bunker the moment he walked in. He asked multiple times, of course, if he was allowed to touch anything but Sam and Dean always answered the same with infinite patience. 

The way Cas acted was strange enough considering he was Cas but he was acting as though he had been trained; conditioned to obey people and not out of respect but out of fear of what consequences would befall him if he didn't. He jumped at loud noises and sudden movements. Sam and Dean had to walk on eggshells around Cas. Every question had to be phrased as a gentle objective request. They simply couldn't trust Castiel to say no. 

And everything and no, not everything in the hyperbolic sense, everything in the literal sense, was answered with 'yes, Dean.' and 'yes, Sam.' Cas had yet to utter the word no and judging from the way the way he avoided it like the plague he wouldn't anytime soon. Sam and Dean had quickly learned –well as quickly as possible– how to speak 'Cas'. A 'yes' was a yes, obviously but a '...yes, of course' was a no. 

By the third day at the bunker, Dean and Sam were losing their patience. Not with Cas but rather with the situation and their lack of solutions. It was infuriating to watch Castiel cower away from them because all he remembered was pain. Said pain that they had rescued him from. And to make matters worse, their frustration was causing a wedge between them as well. Sam and Dean were speaking less than the bare minimum to each other. Although unconfirmed, Cas treated Sam and Dean differently. Castiel avoided being alone with Dean for any amount of time. He never made direct eye contact or spoke above barely audible when addressing Dean and Dean had lost count of how many times Cas flinched when he spoke or walked in the room. Dean had tried, really tried, to make things easier for Cas; speaking quieter himself, walking lighter, making sure he smiled on those rare occasions he caught Cas' gaze but nothing worked. Sam even tried incorporating Dean into Cas' frequent questions but it felt forced so it was stopped before it had really started. 

Sam and Dean didn't know all of what Camael had done to Castiel they only knew what his actions left behind. Cas was fully healed and that was great but he was far from recovered. Castiel hyperventilated if he was in the same room with running water, his back never touched the chairs he sat on, and he never ate until Sam and Dean did –which under normal circumstances wouldn't have really been a problem, but Cas was frail and pallid.

When Cas was nervous or scared he wrung his hands, pinched at his eyelids, or rubbed his neck furtively to the point that the skin was growing irritated. Some days all Castiel did was cry; like some macabre form of timeout, he would sit in the corner of his room with the lights off and cry. When Sam had first found him, he touched Cas' shoulder to console him, Castiel had screamed as if he had been burned and then promptly began to beg for forgiveness for the better part of an hour. It was after those days that Cas was scarily obedient. He would ask Sam and Dean if they needed anything so often and so genuinely that it had hurt to say no just as much as it had to say yes. 

But every menial task that Sam and Dean gave him –reorder books on shelves, wash dishes, find a recipe for dinner tonight, etc.– Castiel did with a vacant shadow of a content smile on his face as he muttered to himself. It was a while before Sam had caught what Cas was saying:  _'They won't hurt you if you're doing good things. They won't hurt you if you doing good things. They won't hurt you if you do good things. Do good things. Do good things and you can stay. No more whips. No more whips. No more whips.'_ And after Sam had thrown up he made damn sure he was never in the same room as Cas when he was working. 

~*~*~*~

The next week couldn't have come sooner. All three men jumped when a light knock erupted from the front door. Dean was at the door in seconds. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting but this woman wasn't it. She was tall, for one, shorter than Dean but close, and thin but not frail, she was solid and it was obvious she did some serious workouts. She had high, sharp cheekbones, green eyes that rivaled Dean's and hair as red as blood. She smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. She outstretched a slender hand decorated with thin silver rings that stopped before her knuckles. “You must be Dean. I'm Dr. Branna Holloway.” Her voice was deep and laced with a Southern accent. Dean stared at her hand before reluctantly taking it. His practically swallowed hers. Jesus, how old was she? 20? Maybe?

The girl smirked. “I'm twenty-six to be exact, but that's just my vessel's age. A lady never reveals her true age but I'm pretty sure I just turned 537 in August. May I come in?”

“I don't know. Can you?” Dean challenged. 

Branna laughed good-naturedly and pointedly stepped over the threshold with ease. “Elbie told me you were belligerent.”

“Yeah?” Dean pretended to sound disinterested. “What else did she tell you?”

Branna looked at him. “That you protect those you love fiercely.” She paused and smiled again. “But you're a Winchester so I guess it's genetic.” There was no disappointment in her tone; in fact, there was respect. 

As much Dean wanted to dislike Branna, he couldn't; she was honest and he had to respect that.

Dean made an attempt to grin before leading her down to the war room. Sam was already standing with Cas at his flank slightly behind him. Sam focused on the doctor and looked to Dean for answers. Dean shrugged and mouthed 'old soul'.

Branna held out her hand. “Hello, I'm Dr. Branna Holloway and you are...?” 

“I'm Sam and this is Castiel.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Elba definitely neglected to mention how handsome you all were.” Branna cocked her head to side, looking at Castiel. “I'm talking about you, too, Cas. Jesus, could your eyes be any more blue?” 

Castiel blushed and looked down at his hands. “Th-thank you, ma'am.”

“Ma'am? Sir, you're older than me, if anyone's going to be using politically correct titles it's gonna be me. So if it's alright with you we'll just stick with Branna.” Her tone suggested that was waiting for affirmation. 

Castiel looked to Dean before looking back down, “Y-yes, th-that is fine.”

Branna nodded and clasped her hands together, “Great! Now that that's done. Shall we have some tea?” Without waiting for an answer, Branna headed to the kitchen like she owned the place. She found the kitchen rather easily considering she had never been there before. Despite her excitement, she was making sure that every drawer and cabinet she opened was closed gently and without a single rattle. Thankfully the kettle was already full from Sam's oatmeal that morning.

As the water was put on to boil, Branna set out three sets of cup and saucers, a mug, and a plate of cookies from Dean's stash on the table. As soon as the men were seated, Branna started speaking. “So tell me about yourselves starting with the...right of the dealer.” She winked at Sam. 

“Um...”

“Come on, Sam. Surely it can't be that difficult to talk about yourself especially to someone who knows all the dirty little secrets of the world. I promise I'm hard to surprise.” She let her eyes go black for split second, making sure Castiel didn't see.

Sam's mind was honestly blank. He couldn't think of anything so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Uh, I'm Sam–.” Dean snorted. “Shut up, Dean, you aren't exactly a keynote speaker.”

Branna was quick to release the tension. “Ooh. Burn.” Dean smirked and Sam not-smiled and Cas' shoulders relaxed. “Now that's better. Good Lord, I thought I was going to choke on the tension.” She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, that wasn't exactly fair of me. How about I ask you guys some questions?” Sam and Dean didn't say yes but they didn't say no so Branna continued. “What do you guys do for a living?”

“Well, right now we're not working.” Dean told her. “But I have a job lined up at a garage–.”

“And I was planning to finish my degree.”

“Ooh. Scholar.” Branna complimented as the kettle began to whistle. She filled hers, Cas', and Sam's teacups and slipped in the teabags. Strange; Castiel showed no sign of discomfort. For Dean, Branna poured him a steaming mug of coffee. She winked at him. “Degree in what if I may ask?” She asked turning back to Sam.

“Law.” Sam replied, adding sugar. 

“What kind? The kind that gets the bad guy in the slammer or the CEO more money?” Branna placed her saucer over the top of her teacup, letting it steep. 

Sam smirked. “The former. I wanted to be a DA.”

“Very reputable. And you, Cas?” She reserved her brightest smile for the shy man. 

Cas' head snapped up a look of fear across his face. “I-I can't h-have a job.”

“Who said?”

“N-no one. I j-just...c-can't.”

“Why not?”

“B-because I-I-I'm b-broken.”

Branna leaned back and scrutinized Castiel. “Sam, Dean, give us the room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College is going fucking amazing but it's college so the chapters are going to be slow. BUT just know that I will NEVER give up on this story no matter how long I have in between chapters I will ALWAYS come back. *crosses heart* I have so much happy, fluffy, schmoopy shit planned that it'll give you cavities but we gotta get through the sad, angsty shit first so bear with me! :)


	19. Trouble Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Holloway's session with Cas.

**_Some kind of therapy is all I need_ **

**_Please believe me_ **

**_Some instant remedy_ **

**_That can cure me completely_ **

 

Castiel immediately tensed. “W-wait. Wh-where a-are–? I-I’m sorry. I-I won’t say it again. Please.”

Branna reached across the table to touch the back of Castiel’s hand. He flinched but didn’t pull away. He was too distracted by Sam and Dean leaving. “Cas, you are not in trouble and you are not being punished. Sam and Dean aren’t leaving forever, they’re just giving us some privacy. They’ll be just outside. I promise.”

It was clear that Castiel didn’t believe her. He looked expectantly at Sam. Sam was quick to agree. “Right. If you really want to leave then all you have to do is walk out and find us. Dr. Holloway just wants to talk to you. Okay?”

Castiel swallowed. “Y-yes, yes, o-o-of c-course, Sam.”

Sam suppressed a sigh. “We know that she looks different to you but–.”

Branna stood abruptly. “Sam, Dean, may I speak with you for a moment?”

Dean and Sam nodded before walking out. “What is it?” Dean asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was psychic?” Branna interjected. She wasn’t angry she just thought it would have been nice to know.

Sam looked genuinely confused. “Because he’s not.”

“Well, he’s not a demon or an angel and I’m sure that he hasn’t made any deals so I’m lost. How can he see my true face?” Branna’s leather jacket creased as she folded her arms.

“Your radar broken?” Dean snapped. “He’s an angel.”

Branna furrowed her brow. “No. He’s not.”

Dean shot Sam a confused look. “Well, I think we beg to differ; we’ve seen him smite demons and fucking vanish into thin air.”

“Recently?” Branna returned. Sam and Dean were silent. “Come on, he’s sweating, flinching, and twitching. Jesus, he’s even carrying sandbags under his eyes.” Branna sighed. “Look, I try avoid angels as much as the next demon but I have met my fair share and I can assure you that Castiel is _not_ an angel. Maybe once upon a time he was, but right now there is not an ounce of Grace resonating off of him. Castiel is no more an angel than you are. He’s completely human. You’re telling me you didn’t know?” They shook their heads. Branna sighed and ran a hand through her crimson pixie cut. “Hell, he probably doesn’t even know anything about the supernatural.”

Dean cursed under his breath while Sam looked like he had been punched in the gut. “What…what should we do?”

Branna made an objective face. “That’s up to you two. You can destroy what little faith he has in the world and tell him the truth or you can lie to him, which you and I both know won’t last very long because secrets and lies have a nasty habit of coming out. But if you’re asking me what I suggest…I think you should wait; there is still a chance that Castiel’s memories will come back, so no point in causing him any unnecessary distress. But still. Like I said. Up to you. If you would like, I can tell him for you during our session, free of charge of course.” She lightened the mood instantly with a wink.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, having a quick silent exchange of thoughts. “No,” Dean grunted. “We’ll wait.”

“Gotcha.” Branna made a shooing motion as she walked back to the kitchen. “Now scoot.”

There was no need to go far in an effort to give Branna and Cas their privacy since the every room in the Bunker was practically soundproof so Dean and Sam both took a seat in the main room. Dean with a book and Sam on his laptop.

Branna returned to the kitchen to see Castiel as still as a statue. She sat back down, taking the saucer off the top of her cup and taking a sip. “So, Cas, how do you feel?”

“F-fine.” Cas said, though his fingers, which were intertwined in his lap, shook like leaves.

Branna repressed a sigh. “Cas, do you know why I’m here?”

“T-to…” Castiel shook his head.

“No, go ahead. Guess. I’m not gonna say there aren’t any wrong answers but there won’t be repercussions.”

Castiel looked down. “T-to help.”

“Help who?” Branna immediately followed up.

“M-me?”

“Exactly. And, Castiel, I’m sorry but I can’t help you if you aren’t straight up with me.” Branna added one spoonful of sugar to her cup and stirred it slowly. “I want this” –she pointed to Cas and herself– “to be a safe time to vent, rant, or even just chat. So when I ask you how you feel or what you think, I need you to tell me the truth or else we won’t get anywhere. Sam and Dean won’t know about anything we say unless you specifically tell me not to tell them. Does that sound fair?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Good.” Branna leaned forward. “So let’s try this again. How do you feel, Cas? Right now, in this moment.”

“I-I a-am f-fine, Dr. Holloway.” Castiel even had the gall to pretend to smile. His dry lips cracked in place and Branna had to force herself not to cringe in pity.

But pity only went so far with her. Branna called Castiel out on his bullshit. “Really? You’re fine? Because you look like you haven’t slept or eaten in weeks.” Castiel went back to looking down at his hands in silence. “Am I wrong? Or are you just going to give me the silent treatment until I end the session? Which I have to confess won’t work, honey, because I am known for my stubbornness.”

Castiel remained silent.

“Okay, how about I tell you how I feel?” She took Castiel’s slowed fidgeting as a sign that he was listening. “I feel pretty damn happy actually. I got this sweet new ride. It’s a jet black Camaro with a 502 Chevy big block that I installed myself and it’s finally ready to run…” Branna sighed wistfully. “Man, she purrs like a kitten getting its back scratched. She looks badass as hell but I couldn’t help but call her Daisy…it just seemed to fit.” Branna studied Castiel’s blank face. “You probably didn’t understand half of that. Right. Anyway, I’m happy because I got a new car.” The woman sat back and gestured to Castiel. “Your turn and I keep in mind I am full prepared to wait all day.”

Castiel stared at Branna. His eyes boring so deeply into her that she was partially worried that he would realize how _not_ human she was. But she kept her feelings composed and her face opened as she waited for Castiel to speak. After six minutes of absolute silence, Castiel spoke. “S-s-scared. I-I’m s-scared.”

“Alright.” Branna straightened her posture. “Can you tell me why?”

“B-because I…I…” Castiel loosened his hands to rub at his temple.

Branna waited exactly fifteen seconds before speaking. “Castiel…how long have you felt scared?”

The man rubbed at his arms as goosebumps rose on his skin. “S-since I-I-I w-woke up f-from m-my c-coma.”

Dr. Holloway murmured in understanding. “Is your fear the reason you aren’t sleeping and eating?”

“I-I eat…” Castiel disputed quietly. “I-I-I j-just c-can’t k-keep i-it i-in.”

“Okay, and as for your sleeping? Are you having nightmares?”

“Y-you o-only h-have n-n-nightmares i-if y-you s-sleep.” Cas said, matter-of-factly. “I-I-I d-don’t s-sleep.”

Castiel’s words struck a chord Branna. “When was the last time you slept?”

The man’s silence spoke volumes.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping, Castiel?”

Cas shook his head. “I-I j-just c-can’t.”

“But why?” Branna prodded. “Are you scared of what might happen if you actually fall asleep? Do you see things when you close your eyes? Are…memories keeping you awake?” Castiel flinched minutely but Dr. Holloway caught it. “Is that it? Memories are keeping you up?” Castiel went back to silence. “…Do you remember what happened to you, Castiel?”

Castiel was vigorously shaking his head. “N-n-n-no, I-I-I-I d-d-don’t r-r-remember a-a-anything.” Both hands were rubbing at his eyes now.

Branna reached over with a slow, deliberate hand and pulled each hand away from his face in turn. “Now why would you want to go and irritate those amazing baby blues?”

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Branna assured him. “It is apparent that it helps you cope.” Branna rubbed her thumb back and forth over the back of Castiel’s thin hand. “Castiel, why do you want everyone to believe that you don’t remember?” And if she thought Castiel looked scared before then he was downright terrified now. He paled and his hands began to shake again. “Castiel, you need to tell me what you remember. Please.”

Castiel hand lifted to touch his face but he stopped it at the last moment. “I-I-I r-r-remember w-whips a-and h-h-heat a-and b-b-blood and p-pain…I-I-I r-r-remember b-being p-p-punished b-but I-I c-can’t r-r-remember w-what f-for.”

And something in the way that Castiel refused to look behind him told Dr. Holloway everything she needed to know. “You think Sam and Dean were the ones that hurt you, don’t you?”

Castiel said nothing.

“Castiel, look at me.” It took Castiel a moment but he finally lifted his eyes to hers. “Sam and Dean are _not_ the ones that hurt you. Do you understand me?”

Castiel remained silent and nodded, but some of the tight fear had been released from his face.

“You were kidnapped and tortured by a man who wrongfully believed that you had committed crimes.” God, she hoped that the essence of the truth got through to him. It was difficult enough to lie but it was even more difficult to lie in order to make someone believe the truth.

“W-what c-crimes?”

“Some bullshit he imagined.” Branna quickly wrote off. “The point is, you were innocent and he tortured you because he wanted you to admit your guilt…which I’m sure you refused to do.”

“H-how long did h-he t-torture me?” Cas asked.

Branna nearly cried at the sound of his voice. Castiel was still stammering but the shake in his voice was slowly dwindling. “From what I understand almost two months.”

“D-did I-I esc-cape?”

Branna smiled slyly and took a sip of her tea. “Nope.”

“I-I d-don’t understand,” Castiel squinted, “d-did the man r-release m-me?”

“No, Castiel.” Branna said, ready to let Castiel out of his confused misery. “Sam and Dean saved you. They looked for you, found you, and killed him.”

“…H-how long h-have I kn-known them?”

“Even if I knew that answer I wouldn’t tell you; that’s something you should ask them yourself. I promise you, they will _never_ hurt you.”

“B-but I-I d-don’t understand…why w-wouldn’t they t-tell me?”

Branna gave Castiel a look. “Think about how you felt when you believed that they had been the ones to torture you…would you have believed them?”

Castiel looked down and shook his head.

“Well, there you go. There would have been no point to tell you the truth if it was only going to make you trust them even less.”

For the first time since there session, Castiel looked behind him. “Dr. Holloway, m-may I–?”

“Of course, we’re about done.” Branna finished off her tea. “But before we stop, can I ask you something?”

Castiel nodded. “Y-yes.”

“How do you feel?”

Castiel looked back at the door and let his hands rest _separately_ against his knees. “I-I …I-I’m actually n-not sure w-what the word f-for it is.”

“There may not be one,” Branna said, “the English language is quite limited in some circumstances. Describe it.”

“I-I-I feel as though…it’s bright–N-n-no, th-that’s right–.”

Branna stood, the smile on her heart-shaped face was blinding and had Castiel almost completely relaxed in an instant. “Hope, Cas. What you’re feeling is hope.”

At the sound of the door opening Dean and Sam both stood, trying and failing to look nonchalant. Branna rolled her eyes playfully at them before placing a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas, honey, may I speak to Sam and Dean for a moment?”

It took Castiel a moment to answer and when he finally spoke the reason was obvious. “Yes, Dr. Holloway.”

Branna winked at him before heading to the stairs that lead to the front door, knowing Sam and Dean would follow.

“So?” Dean said, expectantly.

“Well, Castiel obviously isn’t completely recovered but the progress he made within…”–she looked down at her watch–”...forty-five minutes was nothing less than astronomical. I got him to actually say what he was thinking and feeling, which to be honest, didn’t take much prodding, so I encourage you both to get him to actually speak his mind…” Branna stopped, making sure to be delicate. “Also, Dean was right; Castiel remembers everything from his time with Camael…except for Camael. He remembers every lashing and whatever other fucked up shit Camael did to him but he didn’t remember why Camael chose him and more importantly, he didn’t remember that it was _Camael_ who was doing the torturing…He thought it was you.”

“What?” Sam’s expression was nothing short of a kicked puppy and Dean’s face was a painful mixture of sadness and anger.

“I’m sure it was nothing more than Castiel attempting to make sense of things but not to worry, I made sure to stop that bullshit in its tracks. I even told him that you were the ones to save him and kill Camael. And I…I think,” Branna smiled. “I think he trusts you both a little more now. There’s still some fear of the unknown, I’m sure, because he still doesn’t remember you but I can almost assure you that he isn’t scared of you anymore. Hell, after I had told him that you had saved him, he wanted to end the session, no doubt to talk to you…so on that note I’m gonna get outta here and let you all have that manly love session. Okay?”

Branna didn’t wait for answer and jogged over to Castiel. “It’s Wednesday so…can I see you next week, same time?”

Castiel nodded. “Y-yes…I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll see you then, Blue Eyes.” Branna kissed his cheek and as she headed out did the same to Sam and Dean. “Take care of yourselves!” And with that, Dr. Holloway left taking with her all the sound from the Bunker.

Sam slid his hands into his pockets while Dean scratched at the back of his neck. Thankfully it didn’t take Castiel long to muster up the courage to speak. “Th-thank y-you. I-I was n-not aware that…y-you both h-had r-rescued m-me.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam said, smiling softly.

“I-I asked Dr. Holloway h-how l-long y-you had known me b-but she s-said she d-didn’t kn-know.”

“Going on five years.” Dean replied, giving a silent cheer when Castiel didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice. And to keep the moment from turning too awkward, he changed the subject. “It’s about time for dinner. Were you hungry, Cas?”

Castiel nodded. “Y-yes, D–.” Suddenly, Castiel’s legs gave out from under him and he fell to the floor, landing on his shoulder.

“Cas?” Dean and Sam rushed to Castiel as his entire body began to shake and jerk. His eyes rolled upward and his eyelids fluttered violently as his face turned red and saliva seeped out of his mouth in long stunted spurts. The veins in his neck and temple turned into sickly tumescent worms as his head lolled on the floor aimlessly.

Dean tried to hold Cas still but Sam stopped him and pushed him back. “ _No_ , you could hurt him…we have to just let him ride it out.” Sam removed Castiel’s shirt. He froze at the sight of the long red scratches that scattered Castiel’s chest. He quickly stood, pulling Dean up from the floor with him.

“ _Ride it out?_ ” Dean barked. “He’s having a seizure, Sam!”

“Yeah, and there’s nothing we can do right now except wait until it’s over.” Sam pushed the table away from Cas, forcing himself to avoid looking directly at the still seizing Cas.

After the longest thirty seconds, it was over.

Dean and Sam helped Cas into the closest chair. Sam helped Castiel put his shirt back on, mentally putting the scratches on a ‘Deal With Later’ list that was rapidly growing. “Cas? You alright?”

“Wh-what h-h-happened?” Castiel’s breathing was stunted and chopped as he rubbed at his sore muscles.

“You had a seizure but you seem to be okay right now.” Sam said. “Do you know where you are?”

“Home.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dean asked. Jesus, the irony of what he expected Cas’ answer to be was biting.

“Y-you…a-asking m-me a-about d-dinner.” Castiel rubbed at his temples. “H-how l-long a-ago w-was that?”

“Only about three minutes.” Sam replied.

Castiel looked at him and Dean, actually meeting their eyes. “I-I’m s-sorry…I-I scared y-you.”

“Don’t worry about us.” Dean said. “Do you feel okay?”

“Y-yes, j-just sore.” Castiel replied, blinking owlishly.

“Do you want to lie down?” Sam asked gently.

Castiel nodded. He tried to stand but swayed forcing Dean to jump to keep him from face planting the floor. “Can you make it?” Cas nodded again but he only made it a few steps before stumbling over nothing but air. Dean caught him again. “Alright, that’s it. Up we go.” Dean swept Cas into his arms, forcing himself not to think about how easy it was.

Surprisingly, Cas said nothing…because he was asleep.

Dean carried Cas to his room with Sam leading the way. They both shuddered at the sight of Cas’ room. It was immaculate as if it had never been lived in; the bed was made with the sheets undisturbed and the few objects that had been on the dresser and nightstand appeared untouched. The room might as well have belonged to a hotel.

Dean gently placed Cas on the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. For some reason it felt wrong to leave so he sat on the floor by the chair in the corner, wordlessly inviting Sam to stay too.

And that’s exactly what they did. They stayed and watched Cas sleep. Just as they had in the hospital only this time Sam and Dean relished in the fact that there was no doubt that Cas would awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Il est temps pour certains flashbacks, non? :)


	20. La La La

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes some progress and has a major setback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no clue how you guys let me get away with that shitstorm of an update, which is why I have rewritten it.  
> Speaking of rewriting, I have gone back and revamped all the chapters. Revamped meaning added more, changed chapter titles/lyrics, checked for grammar errors, and even consistency issues. So if you're feeling up to it you can go back and reread.
> 
> And as promised, Dr. Holloway will be returning in the next chapter. :)

**_Hush, don't speak_ **

**_When you spit your venom keep it shut_ **

**_I hate it when you hiss and preach about your new messiah_ **

**_'Cause your theories catch fire_ **

**_…_ **

**_I'm covering my ears like a kid_ **

**_When your words mean nothing, I go la la la_ **

**_I'm turning off the volume when you speak_ **

**_'Cause if my heart can't stop it,_ **

**_I'll find a way to block it, I go_ **

**_La la la_ **

 

Sam and Dean were fully prepared to wait for Cas to awake but a catnap definitely wasn’t what Cas was taking. Castiel slept…and slept…and slept. Dean had started to get worried after about twelve hours but Sam had assured him Castiel was just catching up on all the sleep he had missed. Two weeks’ worth of exhaustion had snuck up on Castiel and was satisfying itself with a well-deserved uninterrupted slumber.

Dean and Sam had tried to keep to their normal sleeping schedule but their bouts of fitful sleep were interrupted by the urge to check on Castiel. Every few hours Sam, Dean or both of them had gotten up and headed to Castiel’s room. They checked his pulse and his breathing and stayed an hour or so to make sure his sleep was peaceful before going back to their own bed.

It was two days later that Sam woke up to the smell of coffee. He sat up, silently appreciating his brother for making breakfast when he realized that Dean was still beside him fast asleep. Sam didn’t bother being anymore quiet than usual as he headed downstairs. Dean was by no means a light sleeper.

Sam opened the door to the kitchen to find Castiel pouring a second cup of coffee. “Good morning, Sam.” There was no stutter but it was obvious that doing so had cost Castiel a great deal of concentration.

Sam quickly recovered from his surprise and nodded in thanks as he sat across from Castiel. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Yes, Sam. Did you?”

“Yeah, I did, actually. I’m surprised you figured out the coffeemaker.” Castiel said nothing, but his shoulders hunched slightly as if he had been berated. “Not that I didn’t think you could,” Sam rushed out, “It’s just that Dean’s good at figuring stuff out and he almost made me return it when it wouldn’t work for him. I think he’s just used to buying coffee so he usually waits for me to make it. He thinks that it should automatic.”

Castiel blushed. “It took some time but I managed. Is it made to your liking?”

“Yeah, it’s great.”

And that was the extent of their conversation until Dean woke up half an hour later. His aura was all around foggy and tired until he caught sight of the still warm coffee pot. “Sweet, coffee. Thanks, Sammy.” Dean set his book on the table –Sam was pretty sure this was his brother’s thirtieth time reading _Slaughterhouse Five_ – before taking one of the larger mugs down from the cabinet and poured himself a cup, spooning in his insane amount of sugar. How Dean took his coffee was hot and cold, either it was strong and black and barely drinkable or it was a half-coffee half-sugar concoction that would put a diabetic into a coma.

 “Actually, Castiel made it.” Sam told his brother as he sat down.

“Cool. Yeah, that’s great.” Dean nodded and took a long sip of his coffee. Sam stealthily brushed his foot against Dean’s. Dean gave Sam a look before clearing his throat. “So, did you sleep well?” Dean’s tone made it evident that he was asking two people two different questions.

Castiel said nothing for a moment, continuing to stare at his coffee. He looked up when he realized that the question had been directed at him. “Y-yes, Dean…” It was clear that Castiel was going to continue but stopped himself.

“Wanna elaborate?” Dean replied without thinking. Sam tapped at his foot again, this time much harder. “Only if you want to though.”

“I-It was nothing…I just don’t remember ever feeling so...calm. Is sleep always like this?” Castiel looked at Dean before quickly averting his eyes.

Dean snorted and took a sip of his coffee. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Do you not s-sleep w-well, Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer for a moment but only because he was shocked that Castiel had addressed him directly with barely a stutter. There was still no eye contact but progress was progress. Dean covered his shock with a slight shrug, “I’ve had my share of sleepless nights.”

Castiel nodded slightly and focused on the wooden table.

Sam stood, finishing his coffee. “Did you guys want breakfast? I can make…”

Dean rolled his eyes as he poured himself another cup of coffee. “What, burnt toast and overcooked eggs?”

“Okay, jerk,” Sam said, falling into their rapport easily. “I don’t see your lazy ass offering to make anything so–.”

Dean pushed Sam away from the fridge. “Move, bitch.”

Sam scoffed but let himself be pushed back into his seat. “And I’m the control freak?” He muttered. Dean suddenly had an itch at the back of his neck that he felt the need to scratch with his third finger.

This was what had been missing for the past...–Jesus, had it really been three weeks since they had found Cas?–, Sam and Dean hadn’t been _themselves_. Not brothers, not lovers. They were walking around as shells of themselves, blindly going through the motions of their life. Their simple back and forth held the hope that things getting back to normal wasn’t quite so farfetched anymore.

Breakfast was simple; toast, eggs, bacon so Dean was done within half an hour. He set the three plates with the items on the table as he sat down but instead of immediately serving himself he looked at Castiel expectantly. Castiel hesitated but jerkily served himself a spoonful of eggs, a strip of bacon, and one slice of toast.

“You sure that’s all you want?” Sam asked, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Once Dean starts eating, it’s kinda hard to get him to stop.”

“Shut up, I made it.” Dean said.

“You want a medal?” Sam teased.

Dean really needed to get a checkup; it wasn’t normal for his body to be itching like that.

Castiel looked down at his plate with a modest nod. “No, Sam. This is sufficient and thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, just nice to be appreciated.” Dean threw Sam a pointed look.

Sam rolled his eyes playfully.

Dean, of course, finished first and went back for seconds. Sam finished shortly after him and made himself a bowl of oatmeal. Castiel was taking his time, eating at a snail’s pace but he seemed to actually be enjoying it so neither Sam nor Dean commented.

“How…?” Castiel trailed off, suddenly unsure if he should be asking.

“What?” Sam asked, setting his bowl down and giving Castiel his full attention.

Castiel looked out the window at the bright but slowly graying sky a look of confusion and frustration on his face. “H-how long had I-I lived here…be-before?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “Uh, you actually never have.” Dean answered, putting the breakfast dished in the sink. “You were about to move in when you got…” Dean cleared his throat and looked to Sam for help. He had always been better with the explaining.

“Yeah, you were taking care of some business…” Sam grimaced, lying to Castiel left a taste not unlike burnt coffee in the back of his throat.

Castiel nodded as if Dean and Sam were explaining everything perfectly. “And where did I…live before?”

“Up north.” Dean said with a curt smile, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“Did I…live a-alone?” Castiel asked, he still hadn’t looked away from the window. But it was obvious from his expression that it wasn’t out of fear, Castiel was taking in every one of Sam and Dean’s words as if they were gospel and committing them to his memory, forming an image of the past version of himself.

“Yes.” Sam told him. “As long as we’ve known you you’ve been on your own.”

“Castiel…”

He looked down before turning back to the table. “Yes, Dean?”

“Do you really not remember anything before you woke up?”

Instead of losing it like Dean and Sam had expected, Castiel took the question in stride. “No, I remember plenty.” Castiel said softly. “But nothing with context; I remember feelings and sounds and tastes and even what methods…but not _why_.” Castiel looked up at Sam. “D-did I do something? Dr. Holloway told me I had done nothing wrong but I must have done _something_ to provoke him–.”

“And she was right.” Sam interrupted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Camael–.”

Castiel suddenly slapped his hands to his ears and began to moan like a wounded animal. Dean and Sam rushed over to Castiel. Both of them tried to placate him with gentle touches but when Castiel saw their hands reach towards him his noises only grew louder. “Castiel, what is it?”

Castiel’s moans spiraled into jumbled words. “ _The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”_

Dean frantically waved his hands in front of Castiel’s face trying to get his attention but Castiel’s gaze had gone scarily blank, his pupils dilated. “Castiel, snap out of it.” Dean, ignoring Castiel’s moans, and tried to take Castiel’s hands away from his ears but it was fruitless. The man must have been using every ounce of his strength. “What the–?”

“Thenamethenamethenamethenamethenamethe _name.”_ Castiel was spitting out the words so fast without pause for a breath that it was a wonder he hadn’t passed out. “I am _unworthy_ of his _name._ We are all unworthy of _his_ _name_.”

Sam let out the breath he was holding and put his hands up in a placating manner. As if Castiel was a loaded gun, though the sentiment wasn’t off judging from Castiel’s hair-trigger. “Okay, okay. We’re unworthy. So we won’t say it. We won’t say it. We won’t say his name.”

Castiel slowly let his hands drop from his face, his chest rising and falling heavily. “Thank you.” Dean and Sam both sensed that Castiel wasn’t addressing them; his eyes were still blank and though he was looking in their direction he seemed to be looking through them.

“Castiel?” Sam said softly, not wanting to jar him.

“I-I am th-thanking them.” Castiel began to rub and pull at his eyelids. There was a relieved smile curling at his mouth as he thanked ‘them’ one more time.

“Thanking who?” Dean asked.

Castiel gave him a look as if it was obvious. “The voices.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other with thinly-veiled shock as Castiel stood up from the floor. In the commotion Castiel’s mug had fallen off the table and had shattered into a dozen coffee-splattered chunks of ceramic on the floor. And just as Camael’s name, the mess was like a switch. Castiel abruptly went to the sink. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up, I promise. I’ll clean it up. I’ll replace the cup as well. I just–.” It took a moment for Dean and Sam to even register Cas’ voice through his ramblings.

“ _Hey_.” Sam stood and took the dish towel from Castiel’s grip and firmly took ahold of Castiel’s shoulders. “Castiel, forget the mug. Are you alright?”

Castiel nodded jerkily. “Yes, Sam, of course.”

“Castiel, what just happened?” Dean got up too. He started to fold his arms but he caught Castiel wince so he dropped his arms awkwardly to his side.

“N-nothing, Dean.” Castiel finally realized that Sam was touching him and quickly pulled out of his grip. “I-I-I need to clean up the mess. I-I can g-go to the st-store and get another–.”

Sam couldn’t describe the sick feeling he got when he saw Castiel kneeling on the floor, his back bowed in submission at Sam’s feet. “Castiel, you really don’t have to…” Sam started but couldn’t find it in himself to finish.

Castiel began to pick up the chunks of glass in quick succession. Sam looked at Dean to see if he was just as uncomfortable as him; he was. Dean thought about picking up his book, pretending everything was normal, but that somehow felt worse than staring. Castiel reached for one of the shards too fast and the edge cut open his palm. But he didn’t wince or cry out or even bother to look at it.

“Castiel, wait.” Sam reached down to inspect Cas’ hand but Castiel jerked away from him. “N-no, Sam. I am alright, Sam. _Truly_.” The last word was said with a desperate tone and Sam Castiel wiped his cut hand on his pants, leaving behind a stark red mark on that light blue fabric.

Sam looked to Dean for help but Dean appeared to be just as helpless as he was. Dean was focused on everywhere but Cas, his hands were holding onto the counter for life. Sam glanced down at Castiel again, he shook his head disdainfully before walking out. Dean sighed and followed suit.

Neither of them could take this right now. They had been hit with an uncompassionate dose of reality, torrential rain on their proverbial parade. The day had started off so well, almost dream-like. Hope had been on the horizon, memories be damned. This morning had been a small taste of what things would have been like had Camael not happened. Breakfast, conversation, _contentment_. And in one second, in one _word,_ it had all come crashing down. They had been caught in the aftershock of a scale-breaking earthquake and were careened fifty paces back when they had only taken three to begin with.

Dean had started to head to the shooting range when he thought better of it. Instead he grabbed his keys and jacket and left without a word to Sam. Sam didn’t quite know how but he knew that Dean wasn’t headed off to do something reckless or stupid –call it experience– so he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it for long. Dean needed time and space, he didn’t bounce back from things quite as easily or quickly as Sam did.

Sam looked at the closed door of the kitchen and heard the light noise of Castiel milling around the room, murmuring to himself. He pulled out his phone and slowly dialed the first number that came to mind.

“...Hey, Branna? It’s me, Sam.”


	21. Dog Days Are Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Branna's life. Sam and Dean sit-in on Castiel's next session.
> 
> ***DISCLAMERS***:  
> Do NOT let this chapters title fool you. Shit gets real in this one so of course it's my favorite. ;)  
> Trigger Warnings/Content Warnings for mentions of self-harm and suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, okay. I know you guys have been waiting a LONG while for this chapter but college was kicking my ass and even after finishing, I had to give myself time to recuperate (read: sleep). But since I have been keeping you guys waiting so long, I decided to make this chapter much longer. I hope you guys enjoy!

**_Happiness hit her like a train on a track_ **

**_Coming towards her stuck still no turning back_ **

**_She hid around corners and she hid under beds_ **

**_She killed it with kisses and from it she fled_ **

**_With every bubble she sank with her drink_ **

**_And washed it away down the kitchen sink_ **

 

Branna confidently walked into the saloon-esque tavern, she scanned the room with a slow determined gaze, but her green eyes took in the patrons with quick disinterest until they touched on a woman sitting at the bar. She was perched on the barstool with her back uncomfortably erect, her wavy strawberry blonde hair was cut short to her neck framing her politely disinterested expression, and from the measured placement of her boot-clad feet she was ready to stand (leave) if need be.

Branna smirked took a seat one stool space apart from the woman. “I’ll have what she's having.”

The woman turned her head to glance at Branna. “You sure about that?”

“Honey, I’m from the south, I’ll take whatever hooch you put in front of me.” The bartender filled a small shot glass with a liquid that appeared to be water and slid it in front of Branna.

“I’ll take another. Matter of fact, leave the bottle.” The bartender hesitated at first but thought better of it. He thoughtfully placed two glasses of water between them.

Branna downed her shot easily and tapped the wood of the bar for another. The burn of the alcohol keeping her from speaking. “What do y’all call that poison?” She said once the burn had died down. Branna stifled a cough. Jesus, poison wasn’t a euphemism.

“Everclear.” The woman told her as she filled Branna’s glass.

“Not exactly creative, if you ask me.”

“You want creativity, go to a museum.”

Branna rolled her eyes, wondering why she had always been drawn to the smartasses. “So how was your day? Must have been pretty eventful to wanna get drunk like this.”

“My day? My day was exhilarating. I caught a cheating husband red-handed and gave the proof to my very rich client and collected fifty thousand dollars. Of course, I also collected another sixty thousand from the husband to keep quiet. The amount of money rich people will spend to keep the illusion of their pride and happiness is laughable.” The woman’s face was completely straight as she spoke and her lilting voice held too much poise and allure to leave any space for joking wavers. As outrageous as her story was, no one could say with absolute sureness that it was a lie. The woman didn’t just give off an air of mystery but possibility.

Branna fought not to laugh as she drank from her water cup. “Did the checks clear?” She didn’t mind playing along. If she was being completely honest, just having the woman’s attention on her was electrifying.

“Of course.” Yet another shot tossed back like water.

“Any regrets?” Branna asked, knowing the answer.

“Plenty; but none of them mine.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

The woman poured herself another shot but this time drank it slowly. She took a small sip from it as she turned toward Branna, her legs relaxing into a wide v. “Your day?”

Branna took another drink of her water. Jesus, they had only been talking for a few minutes and already she was hot under the skin. “Boring as a Tuesday in church.” Not a lie by any stretch of the imagination. What was one really expected to do with infinite money and a necessity to keep under the radar? Aside from that, she was in Kansas not exactly the high point of the world let alone the United States. But Branna wasn’t quite into complaining; she was one of the few ‘people’ who could say a place was or wasn’t better than Hell.

The woman leaned forward, completely unnecessary since the bar was less than half empty and not a single soul was paying them any mind. Her voice deepened by the spirit and seeped out of her perfect lips like burnt caramel. “That uneventful? Perhaps I can do something to make your night a little better.”

Branna smiled. “Maybe you can. But I’m not into teasing so is that an offer or a promise?”

“Why waste time with teasing when I know you’ll put out?” The woman moved in a hair’s length away from Branna’s face. She smelled like spiced tobacco and clean water. Branna couldn’t stop herself from inhaling.

“Oh, you know, do you?” Branna stubbornly refused to close the space between them. There was a line between horny and desperate she would be damned –shut up– if she crossed it so quickly. She was a lady, for fucks’ sake.

She chuckled as if she could hear Branna’s thoughts, the usual light noise roughened by the alcohol. “Oh, definitely.”

The woman stood slowly but surely, placing two crisp twenties in her place. She was so sure of her movements. She knew how she wanted her perfectly manicured fingers to curl over the edge of the bar as she stood, knew the perfect angle to tilt her head to show acute disinterest as she headed for the door. The atmosphere of the bar had changed, no longer were the patrons engrossed in their meaningless conversations, the buzz of the bar had softened to low tones and murmurs of appreciation. The definitive thump of her riding boots signaled her exit. Branna knew that the woman was aware of every eye on her, men and women alike, and was savoring it, milking their attention for all its worth up until she reached the door. And as if a switch had been flipped, the spell had been broken, the customers went back to their respective lives.

“Attention whore.” Branna chugged the rest of her water as well as the woman’s before waiting the designated three minutes and hastily following. She stepped out of the bar expecting to see the woman leaning predatorily against some car with her arms folded but instead she was met with the freezing rain that had started to fall, seasoning the air cold and damp as it struck the cars and gravel lot. Thankfully, the bar was inside the shell of an old shotgun house and the aging wooden awning protected Branna from the rain but not from the cold.

“Bells?” Branna called in a whisper-shout as she squinted into the night. The aftereffects of the alcohol finally started to kick in. “Shit.” Branna muttered as she blinked against her blurry vision, keeping herself from stumbling with sheer willpower and the help of the cold stair railing. She jumped out of her skin when she heard the soft rustle of clothing and she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. “Jesus. Would you quit hiding in the damn shadows like some fucking Disney villain?” Branna bit her lips hard as punishment for slurring her words.

“Never could hold your liquor.” She said, stepping out of the dark corner of the porch. She walked just out of arms’ reach of Branna, stubbing out her clove cigarette on the dying wood railing. The rain made it hiss.

“Oh, shut up.” Branna took a deep breath and gained her footing, clearing some of the fogginess in her head. She turned to her and tossed her the keys. “Take me home.”

She caught them easily. “Oh, so I suppose I’m your chauffer now.” She purposely didn’t offer a hand as she walked past Branna to her car and Branna purposefully didn’t ask.

“Well, you’ve got the hoity-toity accent down pat.” Branna gave a sly smile to her back as she followed. She had to think about every step before she made it to avoid slipping and spraining her ankle on the wet gravel. She smiled whenever Branna managed to lose her footing and swear colorfully.

She got in the driver’s seat and waited patiently as Branna struggled. “Bitch.” Branna murmured as she finally got in.

“You say that like it’s an insult.” She chuckled.

“You’re an insult…” Branna slurred, closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them again when she realized that the car had yet to move. “What is it?”

She looked out the windshield, her eyes boring into the glass. “You know what.”

Branna rolled her eyes and groaned. “Bells, please. Not this again.”

“If you had answered me the first time I wouldn’t have to keep repeating myself.”

“Bell, you know I never discuss my work or my patients.” The sentence rolled off Branna’s tongue; practiced and rote.

“Discuss? Of course not, you have morals. Keep me completely in the dark? Never. I can handle the fake names and the hypothetical scenarios you give me to try and pick my brain but you coming home and avoiding me…it’s not like you.”

Branna suppressed a sigh and grinned cheekily. “Someone call the papers, my girlfriend with severe commitment issues wants more attention.”

Her face collapsed from annoyed to livid. “Fuck you, Branna.” She snatched the keys out of the ignition and got out. The car shook when she slammed the door.

“Great job, Branna, keep it up. Keep it up and you’ll be a lonely demon cat lady in five years.” Branna muttered to herself as she zipped up her coat and got out of the car. She took her time walking around the end of the car to the driver’s side. It was raining even harder now and getting colder. Every raindrop an icy sting to their skin.

“Bells, I’m sorry. That wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to…Shit.” Branna turned on her heel to face her. Either she was going to say it now half drunk or later fully sober but she would be damned – _shut up_ – if she wasn’t going to look her in her eyes, she deserved that much.

“Look, I know what I did before. I know I used to come home and bounce things off of you and talked your ear off about my day but now…I just don’t want to anymore. You have this entire life that I don’t know about, your cases and clients and aliases, and that’s fine, I get it, what you do requires stealth. But I think everyone needs privacy, something that’s just for themselves to give them purpose or an identity, you know?” Branna paused for a breath and she smiled as she thought of Castiel. “And something about this patient made me realize that this is might be my thing.” She stopped and waited for her to say something but she said nothing; continued to stare at Branna, looking through her. “It has nothing to do with you and I know I should have told you sooner instead of cutting you off cold turkey but it sounded stupid in my head and I–.”

She pulled Branna forward by the front of her jacket, not bothering to purse her lips as she kissed her. It was more of a colliding of mouths than kissing; their teeth met and rattled from the force and neither of them could figure out which way to tilt their heads so they just settled for breathing; their lips close enough to touch and not let their breath turn into fog and disappear. “You talk too much.”

Branna swallowed, “I know. I’m working on it.”

She roughly shoved Branna’s back against the car. The flare of pain and shock made Branna’s eyes go black she was ready to change them back when she saw that hers looked the same. “Don’t you dare.” She went in for a real kiss now, holding Branna exactly where she wanted her. She kissed her until the kissing became monotonous; moving on to teasing the roof of Branna’s mouth with her tongue and biting at her lips.

Branna whined when she pulled away but her noises quickly changed from wanting to wanton. Her teeth found Branna’s neck and marked her territory with lengthy lovebites that healed almost immediately but that only made her want to riddle Branna’s neck with more.

“Fuck, Bells.”

“That’s the plan.”

If Branna’s face was flushing before now her cheeks were on fire with her words. Branna found herself and actually began to participate. She reached for her wet hair and yanked her body toward her, trying to envelop herself in the abnormal warmth that she was giving off. Branna lifted her head back opening herself up to not only the icy rain but to her mouth.

She moaned and let her hands slide down from Branna’s neck to the waistband of her jeans. Branna’s hips jerked forward when her cold hands brushed her skin. “Sorry.”

Branna dismissed the apology with a quick shake of her head. “Keep going.”

Even though she was by no means a romantic, when she loved, she loved fierce and feral. She let her hands steal the warmth of Branna’s skin before moving them lower and closer to her center only to move them the next moment. “Please, Bela.” Branna breathed.

She smirked. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

~*~*~*~

Branna awoke to a pounding in her head that was not being helped by the shrill paradigmatic ring of her cell phone. She and Bela groaned in unison as she groped her nightstand. “There is vibration setting. Why don’t you bloody use it?”

Branna eventually got a hold of her phone, she glanced at the clock as she sat up. “It’s nearly eleven anyway. Get up.” Branna rolled her eyes at Bela’s middle finger as she answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Branna? It’s me, Sam.”

Branna looked at Bela’s half-sleep face, not a trace of anger or even interest. But Branna knew better. Branna cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes, stifling a yawn. “Hey, Sam. Give me a second?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course. Take your time.”

Branna put Sam on hold as she hastily put on the first clothes she touched and slipped into a pair of Uggs. She took one last look at Bela before stepping out onto their balcony, closing the door firmly behind her. “Sorry for the wait. Is everything alright?”

“Not really, no. It’s Castiel.”

“What happened?” Branna pressed her hand into the fold of her arm to keep it warm.

“We…we’re not really sure. We were just at breakfast and he sort of had a breakdown. I thought we were making progress but he–.” Sam paused and a stiff silence took over.

“What would you like me to do, Sam? You can put Castiel on the phone if you want or I can come over or I can–.”

“Could you come over? We’ll pay you–.”

“Sam, do me favor. Never mention paying me any money again. Got it?”

Sam let out a small laugh. “Got it.”

“I’ll be there soon. Drink some tea to calm your nerves until then, alright?”

“Alright. See you then.”

“Bye, Sam.” Branna waited a few more seconds just in case until Sam hung up. She set a timer for 45 minutes. Branna wasn’t forgetful but as a demon and an incredibly old one at that, time passed much differently for her.

Branna went back inside to see Bela sitting up in bed, watching the door blankly. Bela leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp causing dim light to illuminate her side of the bed, revealing that she hadn't bothered covering up. “Judging from your guilty expression, I’m going to go ahead and assume you have to go.”

Branna bit her lip and nodded. She went to their shared closet and started tossing an outfit on the bed, fully engrossing herself so she didn’t have to meet Bela’s gaze. “Yeah, I’m so sorry. I know Saturday is our day. But I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can and we’ll binge watch everything sitting in our DVR. I’ll even come back with dinner and wine and those weird taffy candies you like so much.”

Bela shook her head and smiled to herself. She was in love with a bloody saint. “Do you at least have time for breakfast?”

Branna poked her head out of the closet. “You’re not mad?”

Bela rolled her eyes and stood taking her robe off the back of the door. “It’s Saturday, love, not my birthday. You look like you’re in a rush so I’ll make you a cuppa to take with you.” She slipped into her robe and headed down to the kitchen.

Branna laughed in shock as she got ready for a shower. “Okay, then.”

~*~*~*~

About an hour after Sam’s call, a familiar knock sounded at the door. This time both Sam and Dean were the ones to let Dr. Holloway in. She kissed them on the cheek and gave them a sad sort of smile. “I hear we’ve hit a snag.”

Dean scoffed. “You say snag, I say roadblock.”

“Dean.” Sam snapped.

The softness in Branna’s face hardened. She was in high-heeled boots and had no trouble looking Dean in the eye. “You may not have gotten the message yet, sweetie, but Castiel’s progress is completely dependent on you and Sam. So you saying negative shit like that is helping no one. He’s hit a _snag_ because _you_ messed up.”

“You know a lot for someone who’s only talked to him once.”

“You’re damn right, I do.” Branna shot back. “It doesn’t take a detective to tell that this house is not a _home._ It’s cold in here and I am not talking about the temperature. You and Sam don’t talk to each other which means that you _can’t_ possibly be talking to Castiel. Believe it or not, people stronger than Castiel have gone through their own version of much worse and you know what, they make progress. Why? Because they have people who care about them–.”

“If you’re trying to imply that we don’t care about Cas–.”

“No, what I’m trying to say that you don’t know _how_ to care for Castiel.”

And Dean couldn’t find it in him to say anything because Branna was right. They didn’t know how to take care of Castiel. They themselves had never had to deal with memory loss and Castiel’s PTSD only made things more complicated. They were helpless in every sense of the word.

Dr. Holloway sighed. She’d never met anyone who could wear guilt like a Winchester. “Castiel is still scared because you’re still scared. He doesn’t talk because you guys don’t talk. Whether he notices it or not he’s following your cues because it’s all he knows.”

“So what do we do?” Sam asked.

“Well for one, after today’s session, I want you guys to stop acting like hermits. You all are too young and too hot to be shutting out the world.” Branna scolded them with a playful smile. “Go out. Go get those jobs that you want. Go grocery shopping. Go out for dinner. Go to a used bookstore. And take Castiel with you. Keeping him cooped up in here is not helping anybody. Even if he did make progress there’s a chance he’d lose it all the moment a stranger tried to make small talk. So teach him how to be _human_ and the Castiel will follow. I promise.”

The moment ended when Branna smacked both Dean and Sam on the back of the head. “And would you both stop being so damn moody? Yes, Castiel’s memories are gone and yes, he was dealt a shit hand from the Deck of Life but he is _alive._ You may not want to admit it but we all know there is a possibility that Castiel will never get his memories back but there is not a damn thing stopping you from making _new_ ones.”

Branna reached up and gently touched their faces, days of stubble prickled her soft palms. She had so much on the tip of her tongue to say to them, ardent words to convince them of how important they were but a part of her knew her words would be futile. She didn’t mean enough to them yet for them to truly believe her so Branna sighed and went with short and sweet. “You’re good people.”

Castiel shuffled into the room then, his head bowed as usual. “H-hello, Dr. Holloway?” Even without seeing his face there was no way to miss the man’s conclusion.

“Hey, Blue Eyes!” Branna stepped out from behind Dean and Sam. She sensed Castiel’s tension and confusion so instead of going for a hug she gently squeezed his shoulder an arm’s length away.

“It…it isn’t Wednesday…” Castiel stated, he raised his head a degree and risked two quick glances at Sam and Dean. “H-h-have I done s-something wrong?”

“No, Castiel, of course not.” Branna told him. “Whenever you see me, Wednesday or not, I’m here to help you, not punish you.”

It was if her words fell on deaf ears. “I’m sorry. I can do better. You didn’t have to come. I-I’ll–.”

“Castiel, take a breath.” Branna ordered. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be, understand?”

Castiel nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. But on the other hand, I am here for you. Sam called me because he and Dean were worried about you but in the end the choice is yours. If you truly don’t need me, that is completely fine. I’ll hop in my car, go back home, and come back on Wednesday per our schedule. No hard feelings.” Branna let her hand drop from Castiel’s shoulder and folded her hands at her front, exhibiting her infinite patience.

After a moment, Castiel looked up. “Y-yes, I want you to stay...”

“Alright. Wh–?” Branna stopped when she noticed that Castiel was poised to say something else. “Yes, Castiel?”

“C-c-could Dean and Sam also stay?”

Branna blinked, taking a quick look back at Sam and Dean who seemed to be just as taken aback as she was. “Are you sure, Castiel?”

“Yes, Dr. Holloway.” Castiel hands twitched.

Instead of bothering Castiel with questions he most likely wouldn’t be able to answer Branna smiled. “Okay, Castiel. Whatever makes you comfortable. Why don’t you go to the living room and we’ll meet you there?” Branna pressed a finger to her lips when Sam tried to open his mouth to speak and tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen.

Dean and Sam followed Branna to the kitchen where she painstakingly began making tea.

“If you don’t want us to be there we’ll steer clear.” Sam said.

“It’s not about what I want.” Branna said curtly, willing the water to come to a rolling boil. She poured out four servings of tea and covered each to let them steep. When she was done she turned on the microwave and dishwasher. The humming of both filled the silence.

Dean looked at Sam for assurance that he was seeing the same thing. “What the hell are you–?”

“Covering our voices.” Branna muttered before turning to the Winchesters. “Look, Castiel wants you to be there so you’ll be there but you will follow my rules, got it?” Sam and Dean nodded in unison. Branna sighed. “God, I sound like a bitch. It’s not you, okay? There was a reason I asked you guys to leave Cas and I alone last time. I don’t do group sessions. I like the progress made by my patients to be objective and controlled. I don’t want Castiel to act differently just because you’re there. So this is how it’s going to be, when you’re in there remember that this is Castiel’s session so whenever you want to say something make sure it’s relevant to him. Don’t mention Camael or any other part of Castiel’s past unless he brings it up first. When I ask Castiel a question, I expect _him_ to be the one to answer me, I don’t care if he takes twenty minutes to answer the question, I don’t even care if he lies because I can always tell and I will deal with it if I chose to but you will _not_ speak for him. We clear?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Crystal.”

“Good. That’s it.” Branna uncovered two of the cups of tea, flavored them and placed them on a saucer with two cookies. She took one in each hand and headed to the living room. “Bring your tea.” Branna paused for moment before entering the living room, she took a deep breath and plastered on a smile and stepped into the room. “Here you go, Castiel. Nice and hot but not too sweet.”

“Thank you, Dr. Holloway.”

“No problem.” Branna waited for both Sam and Dean had situated themselves at the table beside each other next to Castiel. She couldn’t help but notice how much their posture and position gave away. Dean, the protector, sat up straight with his arms folded across his chest, his gaze on Castiel for any indication of distress. Sam, the empathizer, sat up straight as well but his shoulders pointed inward with his right hand around his left on the table in front of him. And Castiel, the victim, slouched but stiff, trying to make himself as small as possible, uncomfortable in his own skin. “So how has your day been so far, Castiel?”

Castiel took a sip of his tea, his hands tight as a vice on his cup. “Not good.”

“Tell me.” Branna calmly urged, making sure to keep her eyes on Castiel for when he finally looked up.

“I-I overreacted. I-I-I shouldn’t have–. I wasn’t–.” Castiel set his mug down on the table with a clatter, his hands immediately going to his face to rub erratically at his eyelids. “No no no no no…”

Branna set down her cup as well, leaning forward to touch Castiel’s arm. “No, what, Castiel?”

Castiel jumped and looked up at Branna, shocked that she had heard him. “Nothing, Dr. Holloway.”

“Okay.” Branna decided not to push. As much as she’d hated to admit it, Dean was right, she had only met with Castiel once, not nearly enough time to even halfway learn his ins and outs. She couldn’t push him when she wasn’t a hundred percent sure of his reaction. “Can you at least tell me what made you overreact?”

Castiel began to shake his head repeatedly, his eyes going blank. “No. I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Castiel? Can’t remember?”

“No, I can’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll get angry.”

Branna straightened, glancing at both Sam and Dean, who were trying their hardest to keep their faces emotionless. “Who will get angry, Castiel?”

Castiel’s blank stare sharpened and his body stiffened even more. “The voices.”

Branna once again looked at Dean and Sam who didn’t look the least bit surprised. “You hear voices, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded jerkily as if too much movement would spurn reprimand.

“What do these voices say to you, Castiel?”

Castiel shook his head minutely but answered. “Too much. Worthless, failure, incompetent, wasteful, fool, weak, filthy, useless, stupid, burden…”

Branna closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to take it in. “You said they. Is there more than one voice?”

Castiel’s twitching hands moved from his eyes to his ears. His hands opened and closed over them, fighting the urge to completely cover them. “No, just one but all at once.”

“If you had to guess would you say male or female?” Branna asked.

“Neither…just there” Castiel winced as if he’d been struck.

“Are they loud or quiet?”

“A-at first they’re quiet but if I ignore them they get louder…too loud.”

“When do you hear these voices, Castiel?”

The enfeebled angel’s eyes turned glassy as they filled with water. “…All the time.”

Sam had to swallow down a lump in his throat when he heard the break in Castiel’s voice. Seeing Castiel in pain was akin to watching a horse with a broken leg; a strong, noble creature torn down by a seemingly simple affliction but helpless. Sam looked at Dean and could tell that he was thinking the same.

“They don’t let me sleep.”

“Do the voices tell you to do anything, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded, wringing his tears loose. “Too much…hurt myself…kill myself.”

Dean abruptly stood and left the room without a word. Sam tried, really he did, to say something to reassure Castiel that it was alright. But it wasn’t. Nothing was right. The world hadn’t just stopped turning, it had lost its reason to spin. Everything just felt wrong and there was no one to complain to because after all they had seen, all they had been through, this was an apparent cakewalk, the slow walk after a marathon sprint. So Sam kept his mouth shut and followed after Dean.  

Castiel looked up just in time to see Sam leave. “They’re angry. I-I shouldn’t have–.”

“No, Castiel. They’re not angry and if they are, they are not angry at you. They just need some time alone to process, to grieve. They don’t like seeing someone they care about hurt.”

“Still, I-I shouldn’t have s-said anything–.”

Branna tilted her head in patient curiosity. “Why?”

Castiel blinked, unsure of what Branna had said. “Wh-why what?”

“Why do you feel the need to spare Sam and Dean’s feelings over yours?”

Castiel went from shocked to confused. “I-I d-don’t know. It just–.” Castiel stopped, the immediate words failing him.

“No, go ahead. Finish that thought.”

“I-It j-just feels r-right.”

“Right how?”

“Natural,” Castiel clarified, “as if I have been doing it forever.”

“Good.” Branna leaned closer to Castiel, pulling his hands away from his face to his lap. “Good, Castiel. That little nameless thing inside you that makes you want to put Dean and Sam first, that feels like second nature, hold on to it. When you hear those voices in your head, when you get flashes of pain, you remember that feeling and build on it until it’s all you feel. Okay?”

Castiel nodded. “Okay.”

Branna smiled and let go of Castiel’s hands to wipe at his wet eyes. “Good.” Branna helped Castiel bring the mugs to the kitchen where she haphazardly wrote her number on a discarded envelope. She ripped off the excess and folded the rest nice and small before handing it to Castiel. “Now, I’m going to let myself out but I’m going to give you my number so if you ever need me you can just call me, anytime night or day, and I’ll help in every way I can.”

“I understand. Thank you, Dr. Holloway.”

Branna gave Castiel quick kiss on the cheek before standing. “See you Wednesday, Castiel.”

The moment Branna left the kitchen, she put herself on autopilot. If asked later, she wouldn't remember leaving the bunker, getting in her car, or driving through the seven stoplights riddled on her route home.

What she would remember is getting home to find the door unlocked –as usual– and Bela on the couch reading Vogue in black and white polka dotted socks.

She would remember Bela starting to speak as soon as she came through the door and her not hearing a word of it.

 She would remember Bela stopping mid-sentence as she wordlessly climbed onto the couch and curled into her.

She would remember Bela putting down her magazine and wrapping her up in both arms. She would remember hearing Bela murmur, “bloody saint.” before she let her mind go blank.

That’s what she would remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you most likely have noticed while reading this chapter, it was very Branna-centered, which I hope no one minds. There is a big reason why I did this, as you have also read. I felt that changing the point of view would keep my story from becoming too monotonous and move the plot along in any interesting way.


	22. Unwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a roadtrip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I hate making promises I can't keep but I am more than 95% sure that the next chapter will be up very soon!

**_I can hear them whisper_ **

**_And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me_ **

**_Out of all the hours_ ** **_Somehow I've lost my mind_ **

**_But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell_ **

**_I know right now you can't tell_ **

**_But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see_ **

**_A different side of me_ **

 

Sam wasn’t the least bit surprised when he found Dean in their room. In terms of places of solace, their room was the best bet that didn’t involve leaving. “So, that was interesting.” Sam sighed as he collapsed on the bed beside his brother.

Dean coughed out a derisive breath. “Not the word I’d use.”

“Give me an hour, I’ll come up with a better one.”

“So what now?” Dean didn’t bother raising his voice and somehow that was worse. He sounded tired, exhausted, like he’d given up. Dean rubbed at his aching forehead, wanting more than anything to just be able to check out for a few hours. To be anyone else but Dean Winchester.

“I guess we help him.” Sam bit his lip, preparing for Dean to chew him out for stating the obvious.

Dean didn’t. “I’m open to suggestions because whatever the fuck we were doing before wasn’t helping anyone.”

“I think that was the problem. We weren’t really _doing_ anything. We got Castiel a therapist and hoped that if we were patient and bided our time he’d magically get better. I know what to do next as much as you do but I do know that we at least have to treat Castiel like a human being and not–.”

“A battered skittish animal?” Dean finished.

Sam sighed. “Yeah.”

Just then there was a knock at their door, startling them. They had heard Branna leave so there wasn’t much of a question as to who it was. Dean gave Sam a look before going to open it. Somehow both of them were and weren’t surprised to see Castiel standing at the doorway in the hall, looking lost and wary.

“M-may I speak with you both?”

“Sure, uh, did you want to come in?” Dean stepped aside. Castiel hesitated for a moment before stepping into their room.

“You can sit if you’d like.” Sam offered as Dean sat back down beside him. More space between them than before.

Castiel carefully pushed the chair away from the desk with a shaking hand before he gingerly sat down on his hands. “I have not been completely honest with you…”

Dean had to bite his tongue not to thank Castiel for stating the obvious. Sam could tell, of course, and he let his knee brush Dean’s. “How so?” Sam asked, bracing himself for the worst. Dean tensed and Sam subtly closed the space between them.

“I remember you.” Castiel said.

Dean took in a sharp breath and dug his fingers into his knees. This was a dream, right? It had to be. Things like this only happened in movies and this sure as fuck wasn’t a movie. This was real life if the pain in Dean’s leg was anything to go by. But Castiel said it. Dean had heard him and judging from Sam’s silent disbelief he had heard him too. The chances of them both hallucinating wasn’t unheard of but not fucking likely. Just as Dean was about to ask Castiel to elaborate, he did.

“Or, rather, I remember the idea of you.” The muscles in Castiel’s arm twitched. “Sometimes, certain words you say, the way you say them, reminds me of before but I–not exactly. I remember feelings, sensations, sounds…” Castiel’s arms relaxed. “But it’s as if all my memories are just out of reach and…and I want to remember because I know it will make you happy and for some reason that I can’t quite remember I want you both to be happy–.”

“Don’t.” Dean interrupted.

“I-I’m sorry?”

Dean cleared his throat trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “Don’t…you’re not supposed to want to remember for us, you’re supposed to remember for you; they’re your memories.”

“Maybe so but…I think I’ll want it more if I know I’m doing it for you.”

“But why?” Dean felt he was a minute from putting his foot in his mouth or seconds from causing Castiel to break down. “You’ve known us for less than a month.”

Castiel took his hands out from under him and both Sam and Dean tensed, waiting for Castiel to start hurting himself but he didn’t. Instead he clasped them together in his lap, trembling only slightly. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“It doesn’t.” Sam repeated.

Castiel shook his head and finally looked up from the floor, forcing himself to meet Sam and Dean’s eyes. “Like a lifetime.”

~*~*~*~

“Are you guys alright?” Branna’s voice was raspy with sleep and muffled from her holding the speaker too close to her mouth.

Sam chuckled. “What does it say about us that that’s the way you answer the phone?”

“A lot…or not much considering it is three thirty in the morning.” Branna cleared her throat and moved around. “Don’t skirt the question, Sam.”

Sam sighed, closing the door behind him. “We’re fine, I swear.”

“I’ve been told quite often that I am a bloody saint, Sam, please don’t make that title literal. I may be a demon, but I do like my sleep.”

Sam laughed mirthlessly. “Sorry, I guess, I just wanted someone to talk to–.”

He could almost hear Branna’s pitying smile. “About something that you can’t tell Dean.” She finished.

“It’s not that I can’t tell him…”

“Ah, but you don’t want to.”

Sam opened his mouth to deny it but couldn’t bring himself to. “…Yeah.” Sam winced as the Impala’s engine roared to life.

“Where are you going?”

Sam tuned on the radio to one of the alternative rock station that Dean pretended he couldn’t stand. The silence on his end was making his palms slip on the steering wheel. Sam hesitated. “Uh, I’m going to Lawrence.”

“Careful, don’t tell me too much I might have to get a pen.”

“Dean and I were born in Lawrence…I’m going to our childhood home.”

Branna was quiet for a moment. “Why?”

“I…I don’t really know. I’ve been there before.”

Branna sighed. “You know, Sam, when people say ‘walk a mile in another’s shoes’, they don’t mean literally. You don’t have to go to Lawrence to know what it feels like to not remember. Empathy doesn’t mean quid pro quo, it means understanding.”

Sam suppressed a groan and ran a sharp hand through his hair. “I know, I know but I just feel like I have to _do_ something.”

“For all the stories that I have heard about the notoriously codependent Winchester brothers, you sure don’t act like it. Y’all are supposed to be a _team_ , and I ain’t getting that vibe from you. As I am sure I have told you, there is no set of instructions for how to get through this. Go with your gut and if you fuck up then learn from it and _move on_. And take things slow, for Christ’s sake, you’re not old, things don’t have to be fixed tomorrow.”

“…Okay.”

“But since you’re obviously so hellbent on doing something…Memories can be triggered by significant places, sounds, even smells. Maybe try choosing a place that means something to you and Castiel and have Dean do the same. I’m not sure if it’s possible for you guys considering the life you’ve had but try to choose places that are meaningful and with any luck it’ll jog Castiel’s memory.”

“You think so?”

“No, I don’t think so and I don’t know either. It’s not just mental health we’re dealing with here, Sam, there’s magic. There are no definite methods to regain memory let alone Castiel’s so trial and error is all we can do. Familiar places might help Castiel’s memory they might not…I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“I understand.” Sam listened to Branna yawn once more and ask if there was anything else. Sam lied and said no.

“Good night then, Sam. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

“Alright. Good night.” Sam hung up and turned off the engine.

~*~*~*~

Sam heard Dean coming down the stairs, the lazy but sure footsteps giving him away. He looked up just as Dean came in, his eyes half-shut as he held out his hand for coffee. “How are you up and ready so early? No, don’t answer that. _Why_ are you up and ready so damn early?”

Sam snorted. “I went out for a run this morning.”

Dean looked up at his brother, his eyes still squinting. “No, you didn’t. Pass the sugar.”

Sam handed the sugar bowl to Dean, “How would you know? You were asleep.”

Dean nodded, “Yup. But I was awake when you came in and tiptoed up the stairs.”

“I was not tiptoeing–.”

“Sure weren’t, Sasquatch. I heard you trying to be quiet and failing miserably. Word of advice: when you’re trying to sneak around, don’t trip.” Dean pointedly looked under the table at Sam’s boots. “And if you really wanted to sell the ‘going for the run’ story you should’ve at least picked out the right shoes.” Dean gave his brother a smug look over his mug of coffee. “Wanna tell me where you were at the ass crack of dawn?”

Sam sighed. “Fine. I was in the garage, I wanted to go for a drive.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “In my car?”

“Yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I was going to drive to our old house but changed my mind.”

Dean paused from taking another sip of his coffee. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Sam shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“You were going to drive six hours roundtrip and you don’t know.” Dean tossed him a skeptical look.

“I just wanted to know what it felt like. Not to remember. I know I was only there for six months and I’ve been there since but I just wanted to see if I could tell what it felt like not to remember something that I know happened. But I talked to Branna and she told me how stupid that was.”

“You should have told me.”

“You would have stopped me.”

Dean gave his brother a look that screamed _really_. “Tell me more, Madame Cleo, I want to play the lotto today. For one, I could have gone with you and there was a hotel that we stayed at a few miles from the house that the insurance put us up in, much nicer than any place we’ve stayed in. We stayed there for a little over a year while Dad…researched, he wouldn’t step foot in the house even after they finished it. I remember him, hanging up every time they called, taking a longer way to the hotel so he didn’t have to pass by it. If you had told me, we could have gone.”

Sam cast his eyes down and away from his brother’s probing glare. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d think I was being stupid.”

“Don’t do that.” Dean scoffed.

“Do what?”

“I know you, Sammy, and you know me, I always back you a hundred percent in whatever you do. Demon blood, saying yes, the trials. You really thought that I would think it was stupid to visit our old house? No. I don’t whose voice it is, telling you that what is and isn’t stupid, could be Dad, Lucifer, you…but it sure as hell isn’t me.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment. They weren’t supposed to be talking about him, this was supposed to be about Castiel. “I think we’re just pictures to him.” Sam said quietly.

“What?”

“Castiel, he said that he remembered the idea of us. When I saw pictures of Mom it didn’t feel like I was looking at my mom, it just felt like I was looking at this woman that I’d passed by on the street…just familiar. But when I saw her in our house, I _saw_ Mom, I remembered her hair on my face, how she smelled…” Sam stopped for a moment. “My point is that it could be the same for Castiel.”

“Okay, I get it…sort of. But I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

“I was talking to Branna and she said that memories can be triggered by important places so I wanted to try something…”

Dean raised his eyebrows, signaling Sam to continue.

Sam cleared his throat, not sure how it would sound coming from him. “Maybe we could take Castiel back to some meaningful places…” Sam waited for Dean to voice all of the reasons why shouldn’t that he had run though his head a hundred times.

But he didn’t. Instead Dean finished off his coffee with one final sip and a gentle shrug. “Okay, we just have to run it by Castiel.”

Which was fortunately (unfortunately?) a moot point for obvious reasons. Sam and Dean had barely gotten halfway through explaining why they were going on before Castiel began nodding. While they still didn’t fully trust Castiel to tell them no, Sam and Dean knew that the way Castiel’s face brightened with hope couldn’t be faked even for their benefit.

They were at the car within the hour, bags packed. Dean and Sam looked at each other, communicating silently. Who would drive? Would they both be in the front and have Castiel alone in the back? Should Castiel sit in the front? Should one of them sit with Castiel in the back?

Dean took the keys from his pocket and tossed them in air, catching them lightning fast. “I’ll drive, you can navigate from the back.”

“I thought you hated it when I navigated.” Sam teased, opening the trunk.

Dean huffed. “No, no, no. I hate it when you _nag_.” Dean thought he imagined it but he was sure that he saw Castiel smile from the backseat. He was waiting patiently in the warm car.

“Where to first, Sammy?” Dean asked as they packed the trunk.

“I, uh, thought, I’d let you go first.” It wasn’t really a question but Sam tried his hardest to make it sound like a suggestion.

Dean furrowed his brow. “It was your idea, Sam.”

“I know…but I know that you and Castiel are…” Sam wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to finish that thought, not even sure if he wanted to.

Dean tossed the last bag into the back and shut the trunk. “I don’t even know where I’d take him, we didn’t really have a _place_ that was important.” Dean raised his hands into air quotes. “I mean, did you guys?”

Sam rested his back against the trunk. “No, not really. But there is a place where I realized that I loved him…maybe that’s all you need.”

Dean stretched his jaw and nodded. “Yeah…”

They got into the car, Dean in the driver’s seat and Sam in the back beside Castiel. Dean turned on the radio, leaving it on the alt rock station that Sam no doubt had turned it to. _Yellow_ by Coldplay swept out of the speakers like gentle wind, promising good things were to come.

Dean used his rearview mirror to glance at Castiel who was looking out the window with his hands clasped neatly into his lap. “Alright, then.” Dean said softly to himself as he shifted into gear. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~

“You going to tell me where we’re going?” Sam asked when they stopped at a rest area in Nebraska to stretch and get some food. They had been driving for about three and a half hours and there hadn’t been any form of conversation, not even when Castiel had fallen asleep. Castiel had woken up, clenching his hands into fists, and closing his legs and Sam was ashamed of how long it took him to get the message before he had told Dean to stop.

Dean shrugged and shook his at the same time. “What’s the point? You’ll see when we get there.”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked inside the rest hall’s windows looking for Castiel, who was still trying to figure out what to get out of the vending machine. It’d been way too humid inside for Sam to stay a minute longer than he had to. Castiel seemed to be having a good day, he had been making the occasional eye contact with them and smiling every so often that Sam and Dean felt somewhat comfortable leaving him alone for a few minutes. But like overprotective fathers couldn’t stomach letting Castiel out of sight.

“Can you at least tell me how long we have to go?”

Dean checked his phone. “About three more hours.” He laughed to himself. “God, I hope this works.”

Sam huffed humorously at his own expense. “Yeah, me too. Branna made it abundantly clear not to get too invested in the idea of Castiel getting his memory back.”

“She’s right. We shouldn’t. We get our hopes up too high it’ll hurt that much more when it all comes crashing down.”

Sam nodded. It was the truth after all. Hurt like hell but was the truth nonetheless.

A moment later, Castiel was headed their way with a young boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, his bright blue hair visible from a mile away. When they got closer it was apparent that Castiel was agitated; he was shaking and his fingers were twitching. The boy had a large smattering of freckles across his face that sort of complimented his slanted eyes and high cheekbones. He was blushing fiercely but was trying to smile through it. “Hey, uh, I saw you guys walk in together so I just assumed that you…”

“Yeah, he’s with us.” Dean told him. “You okay, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded but said nothing. He opened his hand, letting the three crumpled dollar bills in his fist fall to the ground.

The boy picked them up before they could blow away and handed them to Sam. “I saw it all happen if you want me to tell you…” The boy trailed off again, unsure if he was wanted.

“Yeah, if you could that would be great.” Sam said giving him a reassuring smile.

The boy sighed in relief the tension leaving his shoulders and expression. “He was at the vending machine, taking awhile you know, but me and this other chick, didn’t really care we could tell he was, you know…different but the asshole right behind him was getting all mad and sighing and shit. Idiot obviously didn’t notice that every time he did he was throwing him off, making him take longer. Finally, the asshole just pushed him out of the way and called him a retard. Then he kinda freaked out and started crying, saying sorry over and over.”

“He, uh, has PTSD, so he has a problem with strangers.” Sam explained. “Thank you though for helping him you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was nothing.” There was a car honk and he turned and waved. “That’s my parents. They’re all about their schedule. Gotta go.” He started to walk away but stopped. “Oh, and if you wanna find that douche he’s the fat guy in the Hawaiian shirt.” He jerked his head toward the rest hall. Sure enough, a portly man with an oversized Hawaiian shirt, stained khaki pants, and wearing Burgan Stocks with dirty socks was sitting on one of the benches by the entrance, cramming a Snickers into his mouth while cradling half a dozen other bags of snacks.

“ _Dean._ ” Sam said sternly, noticing the way Dean’s posture change. “Leave it alone.”

“Right, yeah. I just gotta go drain the main vein.” Dean said, barely letting Sam finish. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam rolled his eyes, expecting Dean to completely bypass the restroom but was pleasantly surprised to see Dean go in right past the man. Sam turned his attention back to Castiel, walking him back inside. “Sorry about that guy, Castiel. I guess Dean and I should have told you not everyone is as kind as they should be.”

“It’s okay, Sam, I’m okay.”

 Sam took the crumpled dollars from Cas, exchanging them for straighter ones out of his money clip. “Take your time and pick whatever you want.” Sam told him softly. He looked behind them, ready to explain to anyone waiting, to see a short dark-skinned woman who gave him a smile and patient nod.

“Could I get more than one of the same?” Castiel asked, staring intently at the rows of junk food.

“Yeah, sure.”

The woman stepped in beside Castiel. “Hard time choosing?”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She laughed. “If the vending machine stopped working because someone took too long to choose, it’d never work. Chocolate’s always a go-to for me and Fritos if I’m in the mood for something salty. You know what you’re in the mood for?”

“Hamburgers.” Castiel blurted quietly.

Sam blinked and did a double take. “What?”

“If you want a hamburger you’re looking in the wrong place, honey.” The woman told Castiel lightheartedly.

“Nothing, Sam. I-I was j-just…confused.” Castiel slid three dollar bills into the machine and pressed in the code. Three packages of peanut M&M’s fell to the bottom and Castiel bent to retrieve them. “Goodbye.” Castiel said to the woman and promptly walked away.

Sam stood in shock as he watched Castiel head towards the exit. “My youngest son’s autistic, sometimes you just gotta get used to them living in their own world.”

“Right. Thanks.” Sam jogged away to catch Castiel before he walked out. “Castiel, wait.” Castiel stopped in his tracks at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Are you alright?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, Sam. I just was confused, Sam.” Castiel’s gaze was trained to just behind Sam, avoiding his eyes. “I got three so we all could have some. Does Dean like…?”

“Did you remember something?” Sam asked, taking the candy. He hated interrupting Castiel but he had to know.

Castiel hesitated for a moment, he started to say something just as Dean walked over. “Hey, you guys ready?” Dean tried to hide the fact that he was slightly out of breath but Sam noticed and glared at him accordingly.

Castiel stood up straighter and smiled slightly. “Yes, Dean. Would you like some m and ms?” Castiel offered Dean one of the packages.

“Yeah, thanks. These’re my favorite.” Dean took the bag and immediately ripped it open, stuffing a handful in his mouth to avoid answering Sam’s impending questions and accusations.

“Dean, you were gone for ten minutes.”

Dean smirked. “You really want me to go into detail, Sammy?”

Cue bitchface. “Dean, what did you do?”

Dean pretended to look confused but his smug smirk gave him away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anyth–.”

As if on cue, there was a loud clamor from the parking lot; the man in the Hawaiian shirt was struggling to get his spare tire out from his trunk. His front left tire was slashed.

“Dean, you didn’t.”

Dean chuckled. “I wish I could be there to see his face when he realizes I popped a screw into another one.”

“ _Dean_.”


	23. Under The Table

**_Please tell me that this could be easy_ **

**_I'm tired of waiting for permission to love_ **

**_Heartbreak is your game, but I'm learning_ **

**_My heart could be yours, won't you make it your home?_ **

****

They drove for another hour or so before Dean gave in to the sounds of his, Sam’s, and Castiel’s stomachs growling. He pulled off onto the next exit which had promised food. “What’ll it be?” Dean asked.

“For once, I feel like I could eat anything.” Sam said, as Dean pulled into the parking lot of a local diner.

“This okay with you, Castiel?” Dean asked before he turned off the car. There was practically no chance that Castiel would tell them no, especially to food but Dean felt a little better if he gave Castiel the semblance of choice.

Castiel nodded and waited for Sam and Dean to get out of the car. A smooth blast of heat warmed their faces as the three men walked in. The sounds of chit-chat from the townies and the clanking and sizzling from the kitchen were at a dull roar compared to the ambient quiet of the outside. The smell of oil and butter made its way into their nostrils ratcheting their hunger from starving to ravenous. Since it was seat-yourself, Dean chose a booth in the far back, away from the crowded front area.

“Order anything you want, Castiel.” Dean told him as they sat down. Dean and Sam slid into each side of the booth, letting Castiel choose. Dean shut himself down, ready to watch Castiel choose Sam but he didn’t. Castiel barely hesitated before taking his seat beside Dean.

Dean and Sam caught each other’s gaze and smiled slightly just as a waitress approached their table. She handed them menus and clicked her pen to her chest as she began to say her spiel by rote. “Hey, welcome to Moe’s, I’m Anne and I’ll be serving y’all this even. Can I start you all off with something to drink or would you like a second to look at the menu?”

“A root beer would be great, extra ice.” Dean told her as he took off his jacket. The heat must have been set to Hell in this place.

“Water.” Sam said.

There was a second too long of a pause that had Dean, Sam and the waitress looking at Castiel. “I-I’m sorry. I-I w-will have some, um, w-water, a-as well.” Castiel stammered, trying to make eye contact but gave up and looked back down at his menu.

The waitress schooled her features and nodded. “Of course, I’ll be right back with those.”

“We’re only an hour out by the way.” Dean said, closing his menu and looking out the window beside him at the night sky. The days had already begun to get short and the nights grew not only longer but colder. The farther they drove up north the colder it became. It was closing in on the end of November and there was the promise of snow from the perky radio DJs. Dean wracked his brain, trying to remember if Thanksgiving had already passed or not. He looked at his watch: November 19th. Exactly one week. Dean caught himself planning a menu and wondering which teams were going to be playing but stopped himself short. Making plans too far in advanced never boded well for them. Things were semi-great now but Castiel was on a hair trigger and they were tiptoeing through a barbershop blindfolded.

He had told Sam that Branna was right about them being realistic and not giving in to false hope and experience told him everything he needed to know about where to take his hope but hope had a cruel way of wheedling its way into the crevices of denial and pessimism. His leg was dancing and a small fire was simmering in the pit of his stomach growing every hour that Castiel had yet to have a breakdown.

“Here’s your drinks.” Anne greeted as she set their respective drinks in front of each of them. “Have you all had enough time with the menu?”

“Yeah. I’ll take the breakfast platter with eggs over easy and bacon instead of sausage.” Sam told her handing her his menu.

“I’ll take the cheeseburger and fries, medium well.” Dean said, turning to Castiel but he didn’t miss a beat.

“May I have a hamburger please?” Castiel asked, while his voice shook, there wasn’t a stammer to be found.

“Sure. How would you like that cooked?” She asked.

“I, uh…” Castiel blushed as he looked back down at his menu. “I’m not sure…”

“Oh, okay.” Anne said, wanting to explain but not quite sure how. “Um…”

Dean decided to take a chance and took ahold of Castiel’s hand. Castiel tensed only slightly. “Here, look. The softer the more red or rare it is.” Dean pressed Castiel’s thumb to his index finger. “Touch right here. Feel how soft it is? This is rare.” Dean moved Castiel’s middle finger to his thumb. “It’s a little more firm. This is medium rare. And so on. This is medium and this is well-done.” Dean moved Castiel’s fingers respectively, making sure he had enough time to feel the difference. “You don’t want it too rare and you don’t want it to done so I usually get it medium.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “I-I-I will h-have the s-same then.” The waitress smiled to herself as she took their menus, saying something that no one at the table bothered to pay any mind.

“I remembered something…at the last stop.” Castiel said quietly, almost too quietly for Sam and Dean to hear him over the loudness of the diner. Dean and Sam both tensed and Dean absentmindedly dropped his hold on Castiel’s hands. “I-I’m sorry. I-I just w-wasn’t s-sure…what i-it m-meant so I-I d-didn’t w-want to s-say anything.”

“It’s alright, Castiel.” Sam leaned over the table so he could speak gently and still be heard. “We’re not mad. We’ll never be mad because you remember something no matter how long you take to tell us.”

“Yeah.” Dean added. “Everything is on your timetable. So just do whatever feels right for you.” Dean tried to put enough but not too much emphasis on the last word. To him, Castiel getting better wasn’t worth it if Castiel just wanted it for them. As flattering as it was, it wasn’t right. They were Castiel’s memories and while this Castiel may believe that they revolved around Dean and Sam it just wasn’t true, it was lying to him by default. Thousands of years of wisdom and probably undocumented history was lost if Castiel never regained his memory.

“It…it was Dean and I. In the car…”

“So Sam wasn’t there?” Dean prodded.

Castiel nodded.

“I-I…I was sitting in the front and we were talking about what I can’t quite remember it’s diluted but I was asking Dean something. It was night, that I do recall but I remember because of –.”

“And here are you meals. Breakfast platter, eggs over easy with bacon and the two burgers. If y’all need anything else just holler, alright?”

“Yes, thank you.” Sam said quickly, eager for them to be alone again.

She walked away and Castiel picked up where he had left off as if there had been no interruption. “These.” Castiel finished, looking down at the steaming plate of food in front of him. “I-I was eating o-one of these, out of a bag…one after the other. I-I remember feeling so…h-hungry like a-a n-need that…c-couldn’t be sated.”

“I remember that.” Dean huffed out a surprised laugh. “You were asking me about…uh, actually I don’t remember what we were talking about, probably ‘cause it wasn’t important.” Dean rushed out. Castiel remember something and that was great but that memory wasn’t quite as centered around the supernatural as it could be. Dean had almost dropped the s-bomb and the last thing he wanted to do was taint this moment and fuck it up by spilling the beans.

Castiel picked up his burger and took a massive bite out of it. Neither Sam nor Dean failed to notice that Castiel did not bother waiting for them to take their first bite. Castiel exhaled as he chewed thoughtfully, savoring every moment.

“Is it good?” Dean asked, fighting a smile.

Castiel nodded, his mouth still full.

They finished eating in silence and forewent dessert much to Dean’s disdain. The Triple Berry pie that was calling his name from the dessert menu wasn’t quite as strong as the promising call of Castiel’s returning memory.

They paid and promptly returned to the residual warmth of the car. Dean turned the heat on full blast to battle the freezing wind as they pulled back onto the road.

~*~*~*~

Almost exactly an hour later, Dean was pulling into a large well-lit parking lot. He headed straight for the back where the cars were much scarcer and farther apart.

“Dean…” Sam said, groggily sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

Castiel who had felt the difference in the speed, sat up as well, lifting his head off the cool window. “Are we here?”

Dean sighed, turning off the car. “Yeah, we’re here.”

They all got out to take in where exactly they were. They all had their hands tucked into their pockets and their shoulders pressed to their necks to protect them from the cold winds.

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

Instead of answering, Dean just jerked his head towards the fluorescent sign they’d passed. _Cheyenne Regional Medical Center._

Sam wanted to ask why but he knew there would be no point. Dean wouldn’t answer because Castiel was the one that had to remember so Sam wracked his brain.

It was daunting how many different hospitals they had been to in the last decade alone but he tried to sift through each one. There had only been so many when Castiel had come into their lives. And Wyoming? When was the last time they’d been to Wyoming?

It came back to Sam like lightning. God, how could he have forgotten? Dean had been so broken and he–.

“Anything coming back?” Dean asked, his voice rough as usual but softened with optimism.

Castiel, who had been studying the sign, turned back to the building. He took in the brick building, cocking his head to one side and the other. Finally, he sighed. “I-I’m s-sorry, Dean. I-I d-don’t…I-I’m not remembering a-anything. Not even who was hurt. Was one of us sick…?”

Sam was prepared for Dean’s face to cloud over with defeat but it didn’t. Dean stepped away from the car, his face neutral, as he checked his watch. “It’s not that late, only seven-thirty, if you’re up to it we could go in…”

Castiel looked at Dean. “This memory…it’s important.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah.”

“Then yes. If there’s a chance…”

And that was that. The three made the trek inside, grateful that heat that greeted them instead of a nurse, it was a small miracle in itself. Dean had of course been prepared with a bullshit story but if he could avoid lying so easily in front of Castiel he would.

Dean led the way down a hall. He sure as hell didn’t remember which room he was in but he remembered what it had looked like; how the furniture was positioned, on which side the window was. Dean kept walking, peering into the thin rectangular windows for no more than second before moving on.

They had passed by the occasional doctor, orderly, and nurse but after the first few gave them nothing more than a passing glance it was obvious that they weren’t out of place. It was funny Dean was getting used to walking right past the rooms that he had almost passed by it. He stopped in his tracks and gave the room a double-take checking to make sure that it was empty and unlived in before he opened the door.

It was perfect.

The window to the east. The bed in the middle. The chair on the left. The TV directly across from the bed, a much newer version now.

“So this is it?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean turned to Castiel. “Anything?”

 “Castiel?”

“Cas?”

Castiel said nothing. He seemed frozen in place. No twitch of face or posture showed that he had heard either of them. His eyes had gone blank and out of focus, not acknowledging either of them.

~^~^~^~

_Castiel felt and heard the moment Dean awoke. “Are you alright?”_

_God, it hurt to even tilt his head in Castiel’s direction. Dean looked at Castiel who was stiffly sitting a stranger’s distance from his bedside as if Dean wouldn’t notice. Fat chance. Angels and their fucking objectivity. Dean would have scoffed if he knew it wouldn’t have caused him so much pain. He settled for a weak exhale. “No thanks to you.”_

**_I know. I’m sorry._ ** _“You need to be more careful.”_

_Dean was pleased to find that glaring was painless. “You need to learn how to manage a fucking devil’s trap.” Jesus, he had done exactly what they had asked and when they fucked up they wanted to blame him. Well, fuck them. He wasn’t asking for a thank you –not that he didn’t deserve one– but a little appreciation or acceptance would have done wonders for his bruised ego. Speaking of bruises, the fact that Dean felt like every inch of his body was covered in black and blue when someone who could heal him with a wave of his hand was sitting less than five feet away was fucked up._

_“That’s not what I mean,” Castiel clarified. “Uriel is dead.”_

_Good. He was an asshole. Dean looked at Castiel when the angel hadn’t offered any more of an explanation. “Was it the demons?”_

**_No, he tried to kill you._ ** _“Disobedience.” There was no hiding the contempt in his voice so Castiel hadn’t bothered to try. “He was working against us.” **Against you.**_

_So some angels wanted the Apocalypse to happen. What a bunch of sycophantic dicks. “Is it true?” Dean asked. His voice was soft and hoarse like a child preparing to be reprimanded. Castiel couldn’t help but give the man his attention; his expression blank in asking. “Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?”_

**_No._ ** _The word was on the tip of Castiel’s tongue, the temptation to lie and spare his charge the guilt and pain. But Castiel knew that the truth would come out sooner or later. “Yes. When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you–.”_

_“Jumpstarted the Apocalypse.” Dean finished for him._

_Castiel looked skyward as if the ceiling held all the answers. “But we were too late.” **I was too late.**_

_“Why didn’t you just leave me there then?” It wasn’t as if he could’ve fucked up the world any more, they should have left him down there to rot with the rest of the sick sons of bitches; it was the least he deserved **for ending the fucking world.** Fuck. He was a weak, selfish bastard who didn’t deserve the air he was breathing, let alone being topside. The world was going to end because he couldn’t take a little pain and this **angel,** for fuck’s sake, who should know better was defending him._

_It made Castiel uncomfortable at how easy it was to keep his face blank and unreadable. Just imaging Dean still in Hell, a slave to the grisly whims of its dwellers left Castiel with a feeling not unlike swallowing a slab of salt. Why had he saved Dean? Because Dean didn’t deserve anymore pain. Because Castiel was selfish and wanted to be the one to save him. Because Dean deserved to be saved. “It is not blame that falls on you, Dean. It’s fate. ‘And the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it.’ You have to stop it.”_

_Castiel might as well have told Dean to take apart Mount Everest with nothing but his bare hands and a plastic spoon. “Lucifer? The Apocalypse? What does that mean?” Disbelief and fear combed through Dean’s already damaged voice like a metal rake on concrete. Castiel valiantly ignored the tremble of his charge’s chin. **It means that you will kill your brother.** Castiel looked away, considering leaving. If he flew he could avoid all the obscenities Dean would surely throw his way. Unfortunately, Dean caught on to his cowardice. “Hey. Don’t you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. What does that mean?”_

_“…I don’t know.”_

_“Bullshit.” Dean snapped. Judging from the way his body tensed in pain, he regretted it._

_“I don’t.” For this, Castiel felt no remorse in lying. “Dean, they don’t tell me much. I do know our fate rests with you.”_

_Dean’s face collapsed into a pitiful grimace. “Well, then you guys are fucked. I can’t do it, Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right. I’m not all here. I’m not strong enough.” Dean looked away. Damn it, he wasn’t going to cry in front an angel, especially Castiel. “I guess I’m not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It’s not me.”_

**_But it is. It has to be._ **

_“You can do this, Dean.”_

_“Why? How do you even know?” Dean snapped. “Because God says so? Because you say so? I’m not special, Cas. I’m not some messiah or the fucking chosen one. I’m just me. Some poor bastard who gave up his soul and went to Hell.” Dean felt his eyes pricking again and looked down at the stark white sheets. “Should’ve left me there to rot.”_

_Castiel stood and it pained him in a way that he couldn’t describe when Dean flinched away from him. Castiel hesitated before reaching over and wiping away Dean’s tears, he let his thumb linger to catch the ones that quickly followed. “No, I shouldn’t have. You are not a fool. Do you truly believe that Heaven has made a mistake? You are the only possible choice, Dean, whether you believe it or not.”_

_“I’m one person, Cas, and you want me to stop Lucifer? A fucking archangel?” Dean shook his head and immediately braced himself for his muscles to scold him but the pain didn’t come. Dean blinked in thanks._

_“Yes, because humanity depends on it.” Castiel let his hand fall away from Dean’s face._

_Dean let his eyes fall shut, accepting his fate. There was no point talking in circles. If Dean had been stronger he would have fought harder, argued until he was blue in the face and Castiel finally gave up. But he was tired. Tired of being the one to fuck everything up and let people down. This life wasn’t for him. Never had been. It was for the poor schmucks who felt like their life was missing something and had it in their head that they served some bullshit greater purpose. There was a reason ignorance was bliss._

_The only reason he had felt like shit in that djinn’s world was because he knew, had known all the people he and Sam and Dad had saved had died. But what he wouldn’t give to forget everything for real. Forget which creatures died by fire or beheading, forget exactly how much force it took to puncture the heart, forget the feeling the scent of sulfur left him. Forget everything he had been taught just to be normal. Dean scorned the apple-pie life because he knew he’d never have it._

_“You still believe this is a mistake.”_

_Dean said nothing._

_“Dean.”_

_“What, Cas? What do you want me to say? ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, I’ll get right on that?’ Hope you love disappointment.”_

_“The last thing you need is another voice telling you that you are doomed to fail.” Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s arm, as if merely touching Dean would show him how in the wrong he was._

_“No, the last thing I need is you telling me what my fucking destiny is.” Damn, it felt good to shout. Was hell on his throat but it was worth it._

_“I’m trying to help you, Dean–.”_

_“No, you’re trying to control me just like your dick siblings, only difference is you want some happy-go-lucky outcome that ain’t gonna happen.”_

_“Why are you like this?”_

_“Like what? A realist? Call it experience.” Dean gazed longingly at the cup sitting beside a pitcher of water. He tested his left hand’s fingers and slowly tensed his arm, gauging for pain. It was a six at least, nothing he couldn’t handle._

_“You lack faith.”_

_Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, not gonna apologize for not believing in your old man.” Dean forced his hands to remain steady as he filled the styrofoam cup. He tried to convince himself that they were shaking from strain._

_“Not just in God, in yourself.” Castiel clarified._

_“Fuck you.” Dean downed the cup, feeling even thirstier than before. He reached for the pitcher again when Castiel got in between. The angel was angry and betrayal was the undertone for the red. He leaned into Dean’s space and Dean tried to turn away but Castiel was pinning him by his arm._

_“What do you believe in, Dean, besides your own pity and misery?”_

_Dean set his jaw and met Castiel’s eyes. “I believe in Sam. That maybe one day he’ll be out of this life and happy and die an old man and go to Heaven. That’s what I believe, that’s what keeps me going.”_

_“Yet you won’t save him.” Dean blinked. “Do you think that Sam will get a free pass when Lucifer consumes this world with fire? He will burn, Dean, along with all the innocents, and I can assure you that the path he is on now will not lead him to Heaven’s doors.”_

_Dean sighed and his ribs ached in protest but it was muted to what he was feeling before. “I’m going to die.”_

**_No, you won’t. You can’t._ ** _Castiel’s sighed as well and sat back down. His hand was still warm on Dean’s arm but the rest of his body had sprouted goosebumps. Even with his finite, outdated knowledge on proper human customs, Castiel knew that he should have removed his hand long ago._


	24. Runnin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel runs away, which some people are wont to do, but the question is will he come back? And if so, will he return the same as he left?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know I made a promise but to be fair...FINALS...and moving back home are not fun times and I need to be in a fun time mood if I'm gonna write so please don't hate me. I'm on break now, I have my story outlined written down. and saved so I don't lose it again so I WILL be churning out these chapters like land o'lakes, alright? Promise.

**_I’ve been standing here my whole life,_ **

**_Everything I’ve seen twice, now it’s time I realize_ **

**_It’s spinnin' back around now, on this road I’m crawling_ **

**_Save me ‘cause I'm falling, now I can't seem to breathe right_ **

 

Dean and Sam watched as Castiel just stood there. Stock still in the middle of the room not even moving to blink or breathe. Neither of them knew what was happening. Was Castiel remembering? Was he scared? Hell, this could have been a seizure for all they knew. Castiel’s sharp blue eyes were as blank as untouched land, his eyes set on the bed but looking past it.

Dean was the first to step toward him, arm outstretched to bring Castiel back. Dean made sure to say his name before his hand made contact with Castiel’s shoulder, warning him. “Castiel? You alright?”

It took a moment but Castiel seemed to unfreeze. His rigid stature relaxed and he blinked a few times before looking at Dean, his breath all of a sudden coming out in fast, stunted spurts. “I…”

“Cas?” Sam stepped in beside Dean, ready to catch Castiel if he passed out.

“I…I don’t know.” Castiel breathed.

“Do…’ Dean looked at Sam for help but his eyes were trained on Castiel. “Do you want to go back to the car?”

Castiel shook his head. “I-I don’t _know_.”

Just as Sam opened his mouth, Castiel ran. He bolted out of the room and down the hallway. Dean and Sam didn’t even get a chance to think before they followed after Castiel. They only ran into a couple of orderlies, chasing after Castiel. One of them literally. When they caught up to Castiel he had stopped right at the threshold of the building. Snow had begun to fall, the soft powdery kind that was going to make it hell to drive. Sam and Dean stopped to catch their breath, leaning against the doors.

“Did...did you remember something?” Sam huffed.

Castiel said nothing, staring out at the snow as if it held all the answers. Something, so undescriptive, capturing everything and nothing. Castiel knew he had seen _something_ but he just didn’t know what that something was. It didn’t feel like a memory. In fact, it hadn’t felt real at all. He watched some version of himself saying those things to Dean even recalled the thoughts that had been running through his head at that time but didn’t feel as though he had _remembered_ it. There was too much he didn’t understand, too many phrases and established rules for him to fully grasp the conversation he had so obviously been a part of. It felt as though someone had reached inside his head and tossed in the memory like a crumpled piece of paper. It didn’t feel like his memory of food with Dean in the car. It felt foreign and fake.

So Castiel sighed and cast his eyes away from the snow to meet Sam’s gaze. “No. I remember nothing.”

Castiel felt it in his bones. Knew in his heart of hearts that he knew wasn’t paranoid. He was telling the truth.

If Sam looked unconvinced then Dean looked downright skeptical. “Are you sure?” Dean asked, carefully watching the tone his voice.

Castiel nodded and to hammer the last nail into coffin swallowed thickly and bit at his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

As expected, Dean and Sam’s features softened. “It’s alright, Castiel.”

They all zipped up their coats and turned up their collars to the slowly building storm and headed back to the car with their hands shoved in their pockets and their heads down.

Dean had just unlocked the car when Castiel thought he had heard something. It was light and airy, almost blending in with the wind but hovering above in a whistle tone. It was hard to tell with the gusts and the cars whooshing by on the treated roads but still the noise had Castiel stopping in his tracks. _Castiel._ There it was again. Someone…something saying his name. The voice was humanoid but didn’t sound like any voice Castiel ever heard. Nevertheless, it was calming. For the brief moments that the voice spoke, the voices in Castiel’s head were silenced.

“Did you–?” Castiel started to ask but the voice spoke again.

_Castiel, come to me._

“Castiel, you alright?” Dean stepped closer and Castiel instinctively moved toward the voice. Sam made his way around the car, wondering what he should say if anything.

_That’s it. Come to me, Castiel…their lives depend on it._

“I-I hear something…” Castiel said.

_No. Tell the humans nothing. Just follow my voice._

“Voices?” Sam prodded.

Castiel nodded. “I have to go.”

Dean and Sam balked. “Go? Go where?”

“I-I…I don’t know.” Castiel was becoming frustrated with himself for relying on the phrase but he couldn’t find any other way to say it. “I just know that I have to.”

_Hurry, Castiel, there isn’t much time._

Castiel looked to Sam and Dean, feeling sickening dip in his stomach at the thought of what he was about to do. “I’m sorry.” He muttered before he took off running again. He’d timed it with a particularly strong gust of wind, knowing that it would take Dean and Sam a moment to recover, knowing that he would need a head start.

But in actuality, he had been barely fifty feet away when suddenly his feet were no longer touching the ground and ice-laced wind wasn’t scratching at his cheeks. Castiel tried to open his eyes to take in his new surroundings but his eyelids immediately felt twenty times heavier. But before he completely succumbed to unconsciousness he distinctly heard the voice again… _Sleep, Cassie, I’ll explain everything later…_ and sugar. He smelled sugar.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever so I am completely open to criticism; I'll take all and any remarks that are left under consideration.
> 
> I call this a songfic purely because I decided to put relevant song lyrics at the beginning of my chapters not because I am going to put lyrics in any chapters...I tried and it sounded way too cheesy. If my violent chapters may trigger you or gross you out in any way it is still possible for you to skip them and still understand the story.
> 
> And if the underage tag makes you itchy, Sam's 15 in a future chapter's flashback. Personally, I think at 15 you're old enough to know what you want to do with your body but the law thinks otherwise.
> 
> I will update as I finish each chapter.
> 
> Also, I want you guys to know that you are COMPLETELY free to comment about my writing. If there's a certain something that you want to see happen, if I like it and think it fits in with story, I will do it or at least try. Even if it's a kink or just a simple headcanon. TELL. ME.
> 
> Also I try to avoid typos and grammar mistakes like the plague so don't be afraid to tell me if you see one, I will fix it.
> 
> P.S.: If anyone is interested, I have started a playlist for my fic with the chapter lyrics and maybe some others if I decide. Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/user/injecthappiness/playlist/1QdUgPiL7tYFsJoetjVfNP


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